Selected tales from Tales of a traveller

Glass IBSj^=lP_7 ^

WASHINGTON IRVING

At the age of 27

/

TALES OF A TRAVELLER

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TORONTO

SELECTED TALES

FROM

TALES OF A TRAVELLER

BY

WASHINGTON IRVING

EDITED BY

JEl^NIE F. CHASE

Teacher of English in the William McKinley
High School, St. Louis, Missouri

THE MACMILLAN COMPANY
1909

All rights reserved

7£';?/^7o

/^.^

.A3C^

Copyright, 1909,
By the MACMILLAN COMPANY.

Set up and electrotyped. Published May, 1909.

LIBRARY Of CONGRESS

Two Copies deceived

MAY 24 IttUy
'copy a. *' J

J. S. Gushing Co. — Berwick & Smith Co.
Norwood, Mass., U.S.A.

PREFACE

The purpose of the "Pocket Classics" is so well known
that it seems scarcely necessary to say more of this one than
that this purpose has been held in mind as steadfastly as
was possible to the writer. Elucidation of the text, presen-
tation of the influences which moulded the author's charac-
ter, as well as the principles which guided his work, in
connection with the details of his biography, and some few
suggestions as to feasible methods of using the Tales as
a basis for the technical study of good expression, were the
main considerations.

Hearty thanks are due from the readers as well as from
the writer for the cordial permission of the Houghton Mifflin
Company to use Charles Dudley Warner's Irving. It has
been the basis of all biographical detail, and many critical
estimates, to such an extent that apologies may be necessary
for resemblances in expression where the thought has taken
on its coloring, though the quotation marks were impossible^

J. F. C.

" Life, behind its accidents, stands strong and self-sustain-
ing,
The human fact transcending all the losing and the
gaining." ~ Whittier.

CONTENTS

PAGE

Preface v

Introduction ix

To Teachers . , . . . . . . xxviii

Tales of a Traveller

To the Reader 1

Part First : Strange Stories by a Nervous Gentleman 5

The Great Unknown 7

The Hunting-Dinner 9

The Adventure of My Uncle 15

The Adventure of My Aunt . . . . .30

Part Second : Buckthorne and His Friends . \ 37
Literary Life . . . . . . . .39

A Literary Dinner 42

The Club of Queer Fellows 46

The Poor-Devil Author 53

Notoriety . . . . . . . .77

A Practical Philosopher 80

Part Third : The Italian Banditti .... 83

The Inn at Terracina 85

The Adventure of the Little Antiquary . . . 101

The Belated Travellers 112

vii

Vlii CONTENTS

PAGE

The Adventure of the Popkins Family .

. 132

The Adventure of the Englishman .

. 139

Part Pourth: The Money Diggers

. 147

Hell-gate

. 149

Kidd the Pirate ^

. 153

Wolfert Webber, or Golden Dreams

. 160

Notes

. 225

Index to Notes

. 263

INTRODUCTION

IRVING^S LIFE AND WORKS

Many interests combine to make the charm of reading,
but no other one compares in intensity with the keen
desire of a normal human being to know the experiences
of others. With an instinctive effort to know ourselves
better, we love to follow the struggles and successes, the
emotions and pecuHar characteristics, of interesting people
with whom we can come into touch only through the
sympathy and comprehension of the mind, as well as of
those whom we can grasp by the hand. It is life that
holds us all — life of the slums, of the bush, of the palace ;
life overseas or at our own hearthstones. And the author
who makes his appeal to humanity vivid is sure of a
hearing, though the character of his audience will be de-
termined by the skill with which he makes his appeal as
well as by its nature.

Irving lives in literature to-day primarily because he
felt a keen interest in the lives with which he came into
contact. The intensity of this feeling, together with his
early interest in reading and the social nature which in-
clined him to share everything, led him to embody his
impressions freely, adding, liberally, to the original facts,
exuberant fancies which enriched and diversified them,
transforming with the magic touch of his humor what-
ever incongruous elements appeared, and making all
wholesome with the deft scalpel of his irony.

Quite close to this prime interest in people is the

X INTRODUCTION

understanding of natural surroundings. It was pre-
eminent in Irving. The lad who wandered about the
farms of Manhattan heard the croaking of the frogs, the
tap of the woodpeckers, and the scoffing laugh of the
crows, as well as the tales of the good wives. As he stood
at the pier heads on the Battery, or watched the swirling
waters of Hell Gate, his dreams were not idle, for he was
unconsciously storing up those treasures which always
accrue from genuine and active interest. The youth who
was the first to depict the loveliness of the Hudson found
original expression, also, for the attractions of places
^^old in story, ^' when he looked upon them with untired
eyes trained to beauty and rejoicing in its manifestations.
In this genuine, warm-hearted love of life of all kinds
lay Irving's genius.

In America there had been no voice to tell in ringing
tones of the new life there till Irving spoke. There had
been religious works and magnificently clear, forceful
writing in defence of colonial rights and on other political
themes. We had even produced a novelist. Charles
Brockden Brown had written stories — too much like
his European patterns of the eighteenth century, it is
true, and not genuinely American in tone. Charles
Dudley Warner says, ^^The figures who are moved in
them seem to be transported from the pages of foreign
fiction to the New World, not as it was, but as it existed
in the minds of European sentimentalists.'' He was,
however, the first American who ^^made literature a pro-
fession and attempted to live on its fruits.''

There had been no original use of all the varied ma-
terial of life under American conditions, with the atmos-
phere of the New World about it. Irving saw things
which aroused his admiration, his curiosity, his sense of

INTRODUCTION xi

the ludicrous. The inspiration seems to have come from
the contrast between his own people and family life, and
the conditions he found in the Dutch homes where he
visited; for though the lives of the English and Dutch
settlers seem to have been quite distinct in social matters,
Irving 's family were on good terms with the best of both,
and his personal charm no doubt gained him ready ad-
mission everywhere then — as it did throughout his life.
It would be most inappreciative of Irving ^s nature to
think him capable of inhospitably using his friends as
^'materiar^ for literature. It was not so. The contrasts
apparent in different ways of living opened the way, in
his observant mind, for sketches of people, places, and
situations which later in his life set all the reading world
to laughing or touched them with the tenderness of his
own manly sympathy.

Washington Irving was born on the 3d of April,
1783, in the city of New York. His father, William, was
of an old and respected Scotch family, whose fortunes,
however, had declined. He had left his home in the
Orkney Islands when a boy, and was a subordinate officer
on a ship plying between Falmouth and New York when
he met Sarah Sanders, the granddaughter of an English
curate. They married in 1761, and two years later went
to New York, where he entered into trade instead of
following the sea.

Washington, the youngest of eleven children and the
eighth son, was born in what is now one of New York's
busiest districts, in William Street between Fulton and
John. In a quaint Dutch house across the street from
there, he grew up in the midst of a happy family life
where the father's rule in the spirit of the old Scotch
Covenanters, though stern and evincing little sympathy

XU INTRODUCTION

with youthful recreations and gayety, was righteous and
not lacking in essential tenderness ; and where the gentle-
ness and fine intellect of the more demonstrative mother
won her children's lifelong devotion. Washington was
full of vivacity, drollery, and innocent mischief. His
sportiveness and disinchnation to religious seriousness
caused his mother some anxiety. She is quoted as say-
ing, ^'Oh, Washington, if you were only good !'' He was
fond of music and the theatre, and did not always re-
spect his father's stern injunctions against the latter.

Irving's routine studies were carried on in a desultory
fashion throughout his youth because, perhaps, of his
delicate health; but the exceptional nature and abilities
of the tender-hearted, truthful, susceptible boy enabled
him to accomplish without them much that was usually
attained with difficulty. All vacations were spent in
roaming about the neighboring country: a summer
holiday passed in Westchester County when he was
fifteen furnished the basis for the charming description
of Sleepy Hollow with its dreamy, spectre-haunted atmos-
phere. At seventeen he visited a married sister in the
Mohawk Valley, and on his way there in a sailing vessel
^^ discovered for literature the beauty of the Hudson.''

In 1802 he became a clerk in the law office of Josiah
Ogden Hoffman, where he was, according to the usual
method of those days, to prepare himself for practising
law. Mr. Hoffman's family was of a refined character
especially congenial to Irving, and the intimacy with
them lasted throughout Irving 's life. With them he
took a rough and romantic journey into the wilderness
of northern New York, where Mr. Hoffman was interested
in lands.

In the next few years Irving spent much time in visits

INTRODUCTION Xlil

and excursions to various places from which he sent
numerous interesting letters, the writing of which no
doubt served well in the development of his style. He
seems to have had no definite literary ambition at this time,
his tendency being toward the idle life of a man of society.

His first literary work published was a series of letters,
signed ^'Jonathan Oldstyle/' to the Morning Chronicle,
his brother Peter's new paper. They were daring satires,
based mainly on the theatre, its audiences, and actors;
and though in direct imitation of the Spectator, they
show the author's own quiet humor, his sensibility, and
that chivalrous devotion to woman which always char-
acterized him, — a chivalry which led him — the boy of
nineteen — to protest against the careless and unmanly
habit prevailing at the time of jesting about ^^old maids,''
and to recognize their possible right to admiration, tender-
ness, and protection.

At twenty-one Irving's health remained so delicate that
his brothers sent him to Europe. The sea voyage re-
vived him greatly, and the literary world is richer for
the failure of the captain's well-known prophecy, —
^^ There's a chap who will go overboard before we get
across ! " . Five weeks of sailing brought him to the
mouth of the Garonne, and after six weeks at Bordeaux,
where he learned the language, and a leisurely trip through
France, he reached Genoa five months after he left New
York. This was in 1804. France showed the effects of
the Revolution, and travel was impeded by the suspicion
of his being an English spy. At Avignon, Irving was
sadly disappointed at finding that the tomb of Laura,
one of the literary shrines at which he had hoped to
pay the tribute of his poetic imagination, had been de-
stroyed; but on the whole he lived in the spirit of his

XIV INTRODUCTION

own words, "When I cannot get a dinner to suit my
taste, I endeavor to get a taste to suit my dinner.'' Friends
were made everywhere amongst the best and most dis-
tinguished people. They received him in their homes at
Genoa with cordiahty, and gave him letters to eminent
people in Florence, Rome, and Naples.

From Genoa he went to Sicily, and had an experience
on the journey which no doubt colored some of his later
writings. The boat fell into the hands of pirates of the
most approved style, with cutlasses in their hands, and
stilettos and pistols stuck in their waistbands — pirates
with a sense of humor, too, for on leaving they gave the
captain a receipt for what they had taken and an order
on the British consul at Messina to pay for the same !
Two months in Sicily were full of interesting explorations
and agreeable idling at the ports, where the officers of
American ships were most appreciative of his "boundless
capacity for good fellowship.''

After a visit in Naples, he went to Rome, where for
the first time he could enjoy freely masterpieces of music
and of art. A friendship with Washington AUston, the
American artist, made him dream for a time of remain-
ing in Italy to study art. At Rome a certain banker
was most assiduous in his attentions to Irving, and only
when Irving was leaving, was it discovered that he had
supposed him to be a relative of George Washington.
This suggests another one of many anecdotes concerning
his name. It was years later, when he had some literary
fame, that an English lady rebuked the ignorance of her
daughter who had asked information about the original
of a bust marked "George Washington," by saying,
"Why, my dear, don't you know? He wrote The Sketch
Booh!''

INTRODUCTION XV

I

At the end of a year Irving was in Paris, where for
four months he enjoyed the fascinating hfe of the French
capital, and then went by way of the Netherlands to
London. Here, as everywhere, he met famous people
and made valuable friends. He rejoiced in attendance
at the theatre and opera, loitered about historic scenes,
and played an agreeable part in brilliant salons and at
dinners where his hosts could appreciate the charm of
his manner and his ingenuous nature.

The eighteen months spent in this desultory fashion
were an important factor in Irving ^s literary equipment,
not alone in the material they furnished, but in the
languages he learned and the cultivation resulting from
wide experience amongst refined people of various nation-
alities. But so far in his life there was little actual per-
formance upon which to base any prediction of literary
success.

Irving returned to New York in 1806, resumed his
study of law, and was admitted to the bar, though neither
he nor his examiners probably had a very high opinion
of* the amount of his legal knowledge. He entered again
upon the active enjoyment of social life in Baltimore,
Washington, Philadelphia, and Albany, as well as in
New York, everywhere welcomed for his sunny, lively
disposition, his agreeable manners and vivacious conver-
sation — perhaps also for his comely appearance. A
drawing which was made in Paris in 1 805 shows a most
distinguished and attractive-looking face.

Salmagundi was published at this period of Irving 's
life, in conjunction with his eldest brother, William, and
his lifelong friend, James K. Paulding. It was a small
periodical which appeared twice a month for about ten
months. Though the idea was, again, as in ^^ Jonathan

XVI INTRODUCTION

Oldstyle's'^ letters, borrowed from Addison^s Spectator ^
its wit and humor were largely original, and ''its amusing
audacity and complacent superiority, the mystery hang-
ing about its writers, its affectation of indifference to
praise or profit, its fearless criticism, lively wit, and irre-
sponsible humor, piqued, puzzled, and delighted the
town/' It was read widely in other places, and was
immensely successful. Here we have the real beginning
of his literary career.

Irving did not follow up his literary success immedi-
ately, and after a half-hearted attempt to enter upon
a political career, he gave that up, ''disgusted by the
servility and duplicity and rascality witnessed among the
swarm of scrub politicians. '^

A History of New York, by Diedrich Knickerbocker,
his first important work, resulted from a plan formed
some time later with his brother Peter to satirize a pub-
lication about New York which had just appeared. It
was to be a burlesque upon pedantry and erudition.
Peter having been called abroad by business, Irving
finished it alone in a way altogether different from trhe
original intention, after condensing what they had written
together into five chapters. Some critics seem to think
it would have been better to condense those five into one,
and then throw it away !

During the progress of this work Irving suffered a
great sorrow in the illness and death of Matilda Hoff-
man, whom he had expected to marry. The loss affected
his entire life, for though he seems to have admired
women of his acquaintance very much, and though some
of his letters indicate that he was contemplating at least
the probability of his marrying, he never did so. He
recovered his serenity and much of his gay humor,

INTRODUCTIOIT xvii

but there seemed always present a tender and sacred
memory.

The History of New York was most cleverly advertised
by notices in the newspapers, first of the disappearance
of ^^a small, elderly gentleman dressed in an old black
coat and cocked hat, by the name of Knickerbocker,''
and afterwards by paragraphs stating that an old gentle-
man answering to the description had been seen travel-
ling north on an Albany stage ; and that Knickerbocker
went away owing his landlord and leaving behind a
^'curious kind of written book,'' which would be sold to
pay his bills if he did not return. Finally the announce-
ment of the publication was made, and ever after the
magic words ^^by Diedrich Knickerbocker" were sufficient
to secure attention from the reading public. '^This was
the germ of the whole Knickerbocker legend," says War-
ner, ^^a fantastic creation which in a manner took the
place of history and stamped upon the commercial
metropolis of the New World the Knickerbocker name
and character." The hidden humor of its advertisement
and dedication to the New York Historical Society was
not always discerned, and for a time Irving was under a
cloud of social condemnation in certain circles for hold-
ing the old Dutch inhabitants up to ridicule; but '^even
the Dutch critics were disarmed before long by the
absence of all malice in the gigantic humor of the com-
position." The work came to be considered a master-
piece of humorous writing. Sir Walter Scott, among the
first to recognize its power, compared its style to Swift's ;
and though it may not be always pleasing to modern
taste, it has an assured place in literature.

Again success failed to spur Irving on to new literary
efforts. In social fife and some connection with his

xviii INTRODUCTION

brothers' hardware business the years passed. He be-
came interested in the war with England, and was made
aide and miUtary secretary to the governor of New York.
He was on his way to Washington to apply for a com-
mission in the regular army when the war was ended.

In May, 1815, Irving went to England for a short
visit to a brother living there. The illness of this brother,
the bad condition of their mercantile affairs — which
ended in failure — and then Irving 's literary work, kept
him seventeen years abroad. Before the failure, there .
were trips in Wales and England, which contributed to
the store of interesting material which grew into later
works. Afterwards, in 1818, Irving went to London
determined to devote himself to literature. He was
successful, and thereafter repaid in the most loving and
deUcate manner the care and devotion which had been
lavished upon him as the genius of the family. Warner
says, ^^I know of nothing more admirable than the life-
long relations of this talented and sincere family. '^

The Sketch Booh was sent to America for publication
in May, 1819. It was immensely successful, '^The Wife"
and ^^Rip Van Winkle '^ being the best of the sketches.
Reprints were made in England without authority, so it
was thought best to publish there also ; and soon Irving
was received in the highest literary circles with enthu-
siasm. The ^^ Literary Dinner'' in this volume of The
Tales of a Traveller had a personal foundation in experi-
ences of these times, ^^ whimsical and conventional"
though it seems. ^'Irving's satire of both, authors and
publishers has always the old-time Grub Street flavor,
or at least the reminiscent tone, which is, by the way,
quite characteristic of nearly everything that he wrote
about England." I insert these words of Warner's as

INTRODUCTION XIX

keenly appreciative of Irving 's literary attitude. It seemed
generally, without losing originality or individual charm,
to be that of an observer, and an observer who has read.

Irving went to Paris in the summer of 1820. His
works increased in popularity — a fact w^hich is more
significant of their worth when we remember that both
Scott and Byron were at that time the ^^ idols of the
Enghsh-reading world. ^^

The next year Bracehridge Hall was published, a sort
of sketch book of English life in which was ^^Dolph
Heyliger,^^ one of his best Dutch characterizations. Irving
had returned to England, and had been staying with a
sister in Birmingham. He had become something of an
invalid on account of an eruptive disease which affected
his ankles and troubled him more or less all the rest of
his life. Trips were taken to different ^^cures,^' on one
of which he met the Foster family, who became intimate
friends and added much to the interest of this part of
his life. After this he made a long visit in Paris again,
where he was closely associated with Thomas Moore and
his wife.

The Tales of a Traveller appeared in 1824. They were
tales of English, French, and Italian life, based on his
own experiences and stories told by the way. In his
own opinion, and in that of his best critics, it contained
some of his best writing and had a charming spontaneity
of expression. Nevertheless it was not so popular as
former writings, and perhaps this was one reason why
Irving turned his attention to more serious themes. He
thought of writing his Life of Washington at that time;
but in 1826 he settled in Madrid, his sole object at first
being to make translations of some historical documents
then appearing. But the fascination of the old chronicles

XX INTRODUCTION

and legends kindled the fires of his genius and resulted
in The Life of Columbus, The Alhamhra, The Conquest of
Granada^ Legends of the Conquest of Spain, and The Com-
panions of Columbus. The books of ''mingled fables,
sentiment, fact, and humor are after all the most en-
during fruits of his residence in Spain, ^^ says Warner.

The Life of Columbus appeared in 1828, and was im-
mediately successful. ''It is open to the charge of too
much rhetorical color here and there, and it is at times
too diffuse; but its substantial accuracy is not ques-
tioned, and the glow of the narrative springs legitimately
from the romance of the theme. ^^ The sympathy and
poetic imagination with which he entered into the char-
acter of Columbus shows that he appreciated what
Carlyle has so emphasized, the importance of vivid por-
traiture in historical narrative.

In 1829 Irving was appointed Secretary of Legation
to the Court of Saint James, and though he was much
interested in his literary projects at the time, he was
persuaded by the urgency of his friends to accept, and
evinced in the duties of the position that genuine pa-
triotism w^hich always distinguished him, — though
ignorant doubts and questionings concerning it have
sometimes arisen because of his long stay abroad and his
interest in other places.

Though he played an active part in the best social and
literary life of England, Irving was anxious to return
home. In May of 1832 he came back to America.

The reception accorded the "Dutch Herodotus, Died-
rich Knickerbocker, '' as he was called in an after-dinner
speech, proved the love and admiration of his country-
men, not only in New York, but wherever civilization
had extended its influence in America.

INTRODUCTION Xxi

His astonishment at the wonderful changes wrought in
his absence led Irving to travel a great deal. A Tour on
the Prairies, which is a fine description of hunting ad-
venture, was partly the result of a journey into the
Pawnee country on the Arkansas River. Astoria and
The Adventures of Captain Bonneville are based on Ameri-
can travel also.

Although Irving had received large sums for his books,
unremunerative investments and the fact that he was
responsible for the support of two of his brothers and
several nieces, made it necessary for him to write in-
dustriously. Then, too, he longed for a rural home, for
the purchase and support of which he was willing to
give much. ^^ Sunny side, ^' a farm close to Tarrytown
and Sleepy Hollow, and with a Httle stone cottage about
a hundred years old on it, was purchased as a result of
this ambition for a ^^ Roost,'' as he called it. The stone
cottage was enlarged in such a way as to preserve its
Dutch characteristics and keep it worthy of the memory
of the Van Tassells, who had once inhabited it. The
old weathercock from Holland was a delight always to
Irving, and whichever way it turned, Sunnyside w^as
always the centre of life and interest to a group of rela-
tives who gave him tender care and appreciation, it
seems, in the loving spirit with which he gave hospitality.
It was a beautiful home where guests — many celebrated
ones — were welcomed, and to which his thoughts always
turned from every scene of distinction.

Irving was not only eminent as a man of letters, but
as one of the first citizens of the Repubhc. He declined
such offers as the candidacy for mayor of New York
and for member of Congress, and the honor of a seat in
the President's Cabinet, on account of his dishke for

xxii INTRODUCTION

political life. His interest in an international copyright
law was influential in its passage — to the great advan-
tage of young American authors, though it affected him
little personally.

During the ten years after his return, he published,
besides the books mentioned, Recollections of Abhotsford
and Newstead Ahhey, Legends of the Conquest of Spain,
and the papers in Wolfert's Roost. He also contributed
to the Knickerbocker Magazine, and worked upon books
which appeared later.

One act of this period of his hfe throws light upon
the simple nobility of his nature. Irving had always
cherished the idea of writing the history of the conquest
of Mexico. He had collected material for it, and was
actually composing the opening chapters when some one
interested in Mr. Prescott told him that the latter was
contemplating the work. Though Irving 's work was
quite advanced and Prescott had not yet begun, the
former "renounced the glorious theme in such a manner
that Prescott never suspected the pain and loss it cost
him, nor the full extent of his own obligation. ^^

In 1842, at the instigation of Daniel Webster and
with the most cordial approval of the President and the
Senate, Irving was made ambassador to Spain. The
nomination was a surprise to him, and not altogether an
agreeable one. He accepted, as Warner says, because
of '^the intended honor to his profession, the gratifying
manner in which it came to him, his desire to please his
friends, and the belief, which was a delusion, that diplo-
matic life in Madrid would offer no serious interruption
to his Life of Washington, in which he had just become
engaged.''

Those were times of panic and excitement in Spain,

INTRODUCTION XXlll

and Irving was influential in his diplomatic relations.
He was called to London for consultation about the
Oregon Boundary dispute, and rendered valuable service
there also.

Irving, now more than sixty years old, longed for the
simple life of his Sunnyside home, and in 1846 he re-
turned. The Biography of Goldsmith^ Mahomet and his
Successors, and The Life of Washington were the principal
fruits of the thirteen years after his return. The Gold-
smith is a work of wonderful sympathy and interpreta-
tion of character, Mahomet had all the charm of his
attractive style, and. The Life of Washington is a dignified
portrait which is faithful to the character, and presents
it as a real man of flesh and blood. Before his life ended,
Irving had time to revise all his works and publish the
complete set, from which he received over eighty-eight
thousand dollars.

Soon after the publication of the Washington, and
yet not until he had received the approval of those literary
men whose knowledge of the Revolution gave them the
best right to judge of the value of his work, Irving's
serene life came to an end at Sunnyside on the 28th
of November, 1859.

When Irving appeared before the doctors at Oxford
in 1830 to take the degree of D.C.L., the undergraduates
greeted him with shouts of ^^Diedrich Knickerbocker!"
" Ichabod Crane ! " " Rip Van Winkle ! " He would not,
in all likelihood, have been called to receive the degree
conferred that day had he not written some grave, serious
work of scholarship such as The Life of Columbus; and
yet those names shouted at him by the young enthu-
siasts are perhaps the real touchstones of his fame, —

XXIV INTRODUCTION

stones whose brillia4icy, if we may change the figure,
has been enhanced and made more effective by the
setting provided by a mind which could prove its more
serious powers. As Warner says, however, '^All the
learning of Oxford and Cambridge together would not
enable a man to draw the whimsical portrait of Ichabod
Crane, or to outline the fascinating legend of Rip Van
Winkle : while Europe was full of scholars of more learn-
ing than Irving, and writers of equal skill in narrative,
who might have told the story of Columbus as well/'
His great gift was a whimsical sense of humor, modified
and complemented by sentiment. He used the material
of life about him so as to raise the whole into a realm
of the imagination with the rosy light of sentiment all
about it.

And the form into which Irving cast his most char-
acteristic work was almost a new literary form. Narra-
tive essays or short stories of humor and pathos became
quite the fashion. The Knickerbocker legend was the
greatest achievement of Irving; and the stories of The
Money Diggers, of Wolfert Wehher, and Kidd the Pirate
are phases of that legend which form, perhaps, the most
interesting part of The Tales of a Traveller, though such
narratives as The Adventure of my Uncle, the interesting
tales of the banditti, and the vivid pictures of life in
Buckthorne make one hesitate at comparison.

Irving's reputation rests upon his purely literary skill;
for out of that the genius of his humor and sentiment
created its fitting body. That he found ^^ charm in the
prosaic and materialistic conditions of the New World
as well as in the tradition-laden atmosphere of the Old,
is evidence that he possessed genius of a refined and
subtle quality, if not of the most robust order.'' We do

INTRODUCTION XXV

not find in Irving evidences of the greatest intellectual
force such as is shown, for instance, in the writings of
Emerson and Carlyle. He seems to be writing from the
calm position of an observer, and in something of a
retrospective mood, rather than as one who is in the
thick of the battle of life.

His method was sympathetic, and one felt, rather than
thought out analytically, the effect he desired to pro-
duce. Tone and color were given by light touches of
comparison and suggestion, — often a most illuminating
flash in a single appropriate allusion : or a humorous
suggestion by using a word in some unusual sense, which
is nevertheless quite justified by its derivation or strict
meaning.

One always finds Irving in full sympathy with the
theme of his writing, whether it be of Spanish, English,
Italian, or American life. The local color is invariably
true, and yet it is always pervaded by the literary charm
which was distinctively Irving ^s style — a style clear and
melodious as well as forceful, elegant, and finished, and
always characterized by sense of literary form and re-
markable felicity of metaphor. It is simple in structure,
but most exacting in the demand it makes upon linguistic
appreciation. Few authors require for their complete
appreciation a more accurate knowledge of word values.

There is a moral soundness in Irving — a winning
strain of goodness — which gains the love of his readers
as he gained the love of his family and many friends,
such friends as Moore, Thackeray, Byron, and Scott, as
well as less distinguished people. It was an element of
his art which seemed to spring directly from a sound
nature.

"We know well enough/' says Warner, "that the

XXVI INTRODUCTION

great author of The Newcomes and the great author of
The Heart of Midlothian recognized the abiding value in
Hterature of integrity, sincerity, purity, charity, faith.
These are beneficences, and Irving 's hterature is a benefi-
cent hterature. The author loved good women and
little children and a pure life ; he had faith in his fellow-
men, a kindly sympathy with the lowest, without any
subservience to the highest ; he retained a belief in the
possibility of chivalrous actions, and did not care to
envelop them in a cynical suspicion. He was an author
still capable of an enthusiasm. His books are whole-
some, full of sweetness and charm, of humor without any
sting, of amusement without any stain; and their more
solid qualities are marred by neither pedantry nor pre-
tension."

If this quotation might lure its readers to the fas-
cinating pages of Warner ^s Irving in the American
Men of Letters, where one finds the nature of Irving and
all of his' activities set in accurate relations with his
time, his contemporaries, and the social conditions of the
countries in which he lived,, it would be indeed a fitting
close for this sketch.

TO TEACHERS

Few teachers to-day need suggestions as to profitable
ways of dealing with such literature as they present to
their classes, and yet most of us, perhaps, welcome the
knowledge and opinions of their fellow-workers as to the
value of this or that material for certain purposes.

The aims of English teaching are so many, its
opportunities for culture so broad, that one must en-
deavor to keep well in hand a leash of varied purposes,
and to see that they run with some conformable reference
to each other. Yet all these purposes must have the
same double end in view, — to arouse clear thoughts and
to cultivate the ability to express them. That is the
English teacher ^s business. But what a world of dif-
ference it may make to the ethical and social being of
a young soul if the thoughts which are presented to him
for that imitation which philosophers frOm Plato to
Professor Royce have deemed necessary, are such as will
raise and enrich the tone of his living ! That is every
teacher's business.

Clear and forceful thinking springs from appreciation
of clear and forceful thoughts. In new conditions for
thinking we adapt and use known methods of thought, —
not slavishly or dully following a model, not even con-
scious of any, but using vitally a vital force discovered
in appreciation of the thoughts of others just as truly

xxvii

XXVlll INTRODUCTION

and naturally as the power of thought is developed by-
reactions to the more ordinary forces of life. Accurate
oral reading, questions and discussions based on the
thought in the text but leading a little beyond it through
comparisons, combinations, etc., will strengthen the
ability to think.

Clear and fitting expression is the result of knowledge
of word values, of phrasings, and of sentence relations, —
of the idiom of a language. That knowledge may be
acquired to a certain extent unconsciously, perhaps it is
well for the pupil to be largely unconscious of the process
— but the teacher cannot afford to be so. He should
aid the process of acquiring a forceful vocabulary by
providing suitable opportunities to use new stores of
language, so that they may become fixed in the memory.
What wonderful life may be given to his power of ex-
pression if that which he reads is couched in vivid and
convincing phrase !

These tales are instinct with life. Thoughts bearing
directly on instinctive acts of honor and courage, for in-
stance, can be emphasized in a dozen ways. Questions
about the aims and purposes of the banditti and of the
Englishmen may lead to interesting talks in which vital
principles of life, as well as of oral and written expres-
sion, may be emphasized. The half-humorous apprecia-
tion of the dainty Italian bride Irving couches in quite
different terms from the description of the lovable, ab-
sorbed antiquary, and their acquisition may become
spontaneously the pupil's own without interfering with
his pleasure in the images, if he can be brought to speak
or write of them after his interest has been aroused.

Besides the direct training in thinking and expression,
then, which is brought about by discussion, questions.

INTROBVCTION XXIX

comparisons, etc., and which is the technical duty of the
English teacher, there is the indirect ethical and broadly
religious influence without which teaching is hke a statue
— without a soul. The Tales of a Traveller are full of
opportunities for developments in all three of these
directions. It would be neither wise nor attractive to
study all sketches in the same manner — nor all parts of
one. In some cases the impression should be left
entirely without comment except such as is given
by expressive oral reading. In others analysis is profit-
able. The methods of developing thought by full appre-
ciation of thoughts can scarcely be outlined, since they
must be spontaneous, sympathetic, and like a kindling
flame, which consumes or smelts or warms into life, as
the occasion may demand.

The following suggestions are not offered as novelties,
but as useful exercises suited to The Tales.

Analyze some scene, such as Buckthorne^s battle with
Harlequin, into the elements of action, description, and
explanation which make it effective.

Dramatize some story, ^'^ The Adventure of the EngHsh-
man,'' for example.

Write a description of a character whose traits have
been portrayed largely by actions.

Contrast two characters, Wolfert Webber and the
'^High German Doctor,^' for instance.

Exercise the imagination by filling out the picture of
a character which is only slightly suggested, like that of
the "inquisitive gentleman.''

Study some short sketch, such as "Notoriety,'' for
structural characteristics — unity, coherence, paragraph-
ing, etc.

XXX INTRODUCTION

Collect as many statements as possible about some
place, and combine them into a connected description.

Comment on humorous suggestions in names, in words
used in an unusual manner, and in such double meanings
as are in Wolfert Webber^s motto, '^AUes Kopf/'

Follow out carefully extended metaphors, such as the
one which presents Wolfert 's digging in his garden as if
it were a war on the cabbages, and note the words which
give the effect.

Select the most significant words in an image-making
sentence or in a narrative one.

Observe all old and unusual forms of words, such as
^^ digged."

Pupils who study Latin may select words derived from
that language and comment on their effectiveness.

Comment on the appropriateness of Saxon words
used so freely in scenes of strong passion and in homely
incidents, after the pupils know something of the sources
of our language.

Make lists of unusual and effective adjectives and ad-
verbs as they occur.

Note all effective comparisons.

TALES OF A TRAVELLER

TO THE READER

Worthy and dear reader ! — Hast thou ever been
waylaid in the midst of a pleasant tour by some treach-
erous malady; thy heels tripped up,° and thou left
to count the tedious minutes as they passed, in the soli-
tude of an inn-chamber ? If thou hast, thou wilt be s
able to pity me. Behold me, interrupted in the course
of my journeying up the fair banks of the Rhine, and laid
up by indisposition in this old frontier town of Mentz.°
I have worn out every source of amusement. I know
the sound of every clock that strikes, and bell that rings, lo
in the place. I know to a second when to listen for the
first tap of the Prussian drum, as it summons the garrison
to parade, or at what hour to expect the distant sound of
the Austrian military band. All these have grown weari-
some to me; and even the well-known step of my doctor, 15
as he slowly paces the corridor, with healing in the creak
of his shoes,° no longer affords an agreeable interruption
to the monotony of my apartment.

For a time I attempted to beguile the weary hours
by studying German under the tuition of mine host^s 20
pretty little daughter, Katrine; but I soon found even
German had not power to charm a languid ear, and that
the conjugating of ich liebe might be powerless, however
rosy the lips which uttered it.

I tried to read, but my mind would not fix itself. I 25
turned over volume after volume, but threw them by with

B 1

2 TO THE READER

distaste. ^'Well, then/' said I at length, in despair,
**if I cannot read a book, I will write one/' Never was
there a more lucky idea; it at once gave me occupation
and amusement. The writing of a book was considered
5 in old times as an enterprise of toil and difficulty, insomuch
that the most trifling lucubration^ was denominated a
'^work,'' and the world talked with awe and reverence of
'Hhe labors of the learned.'' These matters are better
understood nowadays.

lo Thanks to the improvements in all kinds of manufac-
tures, the art of book-making has been made familiar to
the meanest capacity. Everybody is an author. The
scribbling of a quarto^ is the mere pastime of the idle;
the young gentleman throws off his brace of duodecimos

15 in the intervals of the sporting season, and the young lady
produces her set of volumes with the same facility that
her great-grandmother worked a set of chair-bottoms.

The idea having struck me, therefore, to write a book,
the reader will easily perceive that the execution of it

20 was no difficult matter. I rummaged my portfolio, and
cast about, in my recollection, for those floating materials
which a man naturally collects in travelling; and here
I have arranged them in this little work.

As I know this to be a story-telling and a story-reading

25 age, and that the world is fond of being taught by apo-
logue,*^ I have digested the instruction I would convey
into a number of tales. They may not possess the power
of amusement which the tales told by many of my con-
temporaries possess ; but then I value myself on the sound

30 moral which each of them contains. This may not be
apparent at first, but the reader will be sure to find it out
in the end. I am for curing the world by gentle altera-
tives,° not by violent doses; indeed, the patient should

TO THE READER 3

never be conscious that he is taking a dose. I have learnt
this much from experience under the hands of the worthy
Hippocrates^ of Mentz.

I am not, therefore, for those barefaced tales which
carry their moral on the surface, staring one in the face ; 5
they are enough to deter the squeamish reader. On the
contrary, I have often hid my moral from sight, and
disguised it as much as possible by sweets and spices, so
that while the simple reader is listening with open mouth
to a ghost or a love story, he may have a bolus of sound lo
morality popped down his throat, and be never the wiser
for the fraud.

As the public is apt to be curious about the sources
whence an author draws his stories, doubtless that it may
know how far to put faith in them, I would observe, that 15
the Adventure of the German Student, or rather the latter
part of it, is founded on an anecdote related to me as
existing somewhere in French; and, indeed, I have been
told, since writing it, that an ingenious tale has been
founded on it by an English writer; but I have never met 20
with either the former or the latter in print. Some of
the circumstances in the Adventure of the Mysterious
Picture, and in the Story of the Young Italian, are vague
recollections of anecdotes related to me some years since;
but from what source derived, I do not know. The Ad- 25
venture of the Young Painter among the banditti is taken
almost entirely from an authentic narrative in manuscript.

As to the other tales contained in this work, and indeed
to my tales generally, I can make but one observation:
I am an old traveller ; I have read somewhat, heard and 30
seen more, and dreamt more than all. My brain is filled
therefore, with all kinds of odds and ends. In travel-
ling, these heterogeneous matters have become shaken

4 TO THE READER

up in my mind, as the articles are apt to be in an ill-
packed travelling-trunk; so that when I attempt to draw
forth a fact, I cannot determine whether I have read,
heard, or dreamt it ; and I am always at a loss to know how
5 much to believe of my own stories.

These matters being premised, fall to, worthy reader,
with good appetite; and, above all, with good humor, to
what is here set before thee. If the tales I have furnished
should prove to be bad, they will at least be found short;
lo so that no one will be wearied long on the same theme.
^'Variety is charming,'^ as some poet observes.

There is a certain relief in change, even though it be
from bad to worse! As I have often found in travelling
in a stage-coach, that it is often a comfort to shift one's
IS position, and be bruised in a new place.

Ever thine,

Geoffrey Crayon.*^

Dated from the Hotel de Darmstadt,
ci'devant° Hotel de Paris,

Mentz, otherwise called Mayence.

PART FIRST

STRANGE STORIES

By a Nervous Gentleman"^

I'll tell you more, there was a fish taken,

A monstrous fish, with a sword by's side, a long sword,

A pike in's neck, and a gun in's nose, a huge gun.

And letters of marf^ in's° mouth from the Duke of Florence.

Cleanthes. — This is a monstrous lie.

Tony. — I do confess it.

Do you think I'd tell you truths ?

— Fletcher's Wife for a Month.

PART FIRST
STRANGE STORIES

. THE GREAT UNKNOWN^

The following adventures were related to me by the
same nervous gentleman who told me the romantic tale
of the Stout Gentleman, published in Bracehridge Hall,
It is very singular, that although I expressly stated that
story to have been told to me, and described the very 5
person who told it, still it has been received as an ad-
venture that happened to myself. Now I protest I never
met with any adventure of the kind. I should not have
grieved at this, had it not been intimated by the author
of Waverley, in an introduction to his novel of Peveril 10
of the Peakj that he was himself the stout gentleman
alluded to. I have ever since been importuned by
questions and letters from gentlemen, and particularly
from ladies without number, touching what I had seen of
the Great Unknown. ^5

Now all this is extremely tantahzing. It is like being
congratulated on the high prize when one has drawn a
blank; for I have just as great a desire as any one of the
public to penetrate the mystery of that very singular
personage, whose voice fills every corner of the world, 20
without any one being able to tell whence it comes.

My friend, the nervous gentleman, also, who is a man

7

8 THE GREAT UNKNOWN

of very shy, retired habits, complains that he has been
excessively annoyed in consequence of its getting about
in his neighborhood that he is the fortunate personage.
Insomuch, that he has become a character of considerable
5 notoriety in two or three country towns, and has been
repeatedly teased to exhibit himself at blue-stocking
parties, ° for no other reason than that of being ^Hhe
gentleman who has had a glimpse of the author of WaverleyJ*
Indeed the poor man has grown ten times as nervous

lo as ever since he has discovered, on such good authority,
who the stout gentleman was; and will never forgive
himself for not having made a more resolute effort to get
a full sight of him. He has anxiously endeavored to
call up a recollection of what he saw of that portly per-

issonage; and has ever since kept a curious eye on all
gentlemen of more than ordinary dimensions, whom he
has seen getting into stage-coaches. All in vain! The
features he had caught a glimpse of seem common to the
whole race of stout gentlemen, and the Great Unknown

20 remains as great an unknown as ever.

Having premised these circumstances, I will now let
the nervous gentleman proceed with his stories.

THE HUNTING-DINNER

I WAS once at a hunting-dinner, given by a worthy
fox-hunting old Baronet, who kept bachelor^s hall in
jovial style in an ancient rook-haunted family-mansion,
in one of the middle counties. He had been a devoted
admirer of the fair sex in his younger days ; but, having 5
travelled much, studied the sex in various countries with
distinguished success, and returned home profoundly
instructed, as he supposed, in the ways of woman, and a
perfect master of the art of pleasing, had the mortifica-
tion of being jilted by a little boarding-school girl, who 10
was scarcely versed in the accidence^ of love.

The Baronet was completely overcome by such an
incredible defeat; retired from the world in disgust;
put himself under the government of his housekeeper;
and took to fox-hunting like a perfect Nimrod.° What- 15
ever poets may say to the contrary, a man will grow
out of love as he grows old; and a pack of fox-hounds
may chase out of his heart even the memory of a board-
ing-school goddess. The Baronet was, when I saw him,
as merry and mellow an old bachelor as ever followed a 20
hound ; and the love he had once felt for one woman had
spread itself over the whole sex, so that there was not a
pretty face in the whole country round but came in for a
share.

The dinner was prolonged till a late hour; for our host 25

10 TALES OF A TRAVELLER

having no ladies in his household to summon us to the
drawing-room, the bottle maintained its true bachelor
sway, unrivalled by its potent enemy, the tea-kettle. °
The old hall in which we dined echoed to bursts of ro-
5 bustious° fox-hunting merriment, that made the ancient
antlers° shake on the walls. By degrees, however, the
wine and the wassail of mine host began to operate upon
bodies already a little jaded by the chase. The choice
spirits which flashed up at the beginning of the dinner,

lo sparkled for a time,then gradually went out one after another,
or only emitted now and then a faint gleam from the socket.
Some of the briskest talkers, who had given tongue so
bravely at the first burst, fell fast asleep ; and none kept
on their way but certain of those long-winded prosers,

15 who, like short-legged hounds, worry on unnoticed at the
bottom of conversation, but are sure to be in at the
death. ° Even these at length subsided into silence ; and
scarcely any thing was heard but the nasal communica-
tions of two or three veteran masticators, who having

20 been silent while awake, were indemnifying the company
in their sleep.

At length the announcement of tea and coffee in the
cedar-parlor roused all hands from this temporary torpor.
Every one awoke marvellously renovated, and while

25 sipping the refreshing beverage out of the Baronet ^s old-
fashioned hereditary china, ° began to think of departing
for their several homes. But here a sudden difficulty
arose. While we had been prolonging our repast, a heavy
winter storm had set in, with snow, rain, and sleet, driven

30 by such bitter blasts of wind, that they threatened to
penetrate to the very bone.

''It's all in vain,'' said our hospitable host, 'Ho think
of putting one's head out of doors in such weather. So,

THE HUNTING-DINNER 11

gentlemen, I hold you my guests for this night at least,
and will have your quarters prepared accordingly/'

The unruly weather, which became more and more
tempestuous, rendered the hospitable suggestion unan-
swerable. The only question was, whether such an 5
unexpected accession of company to an already crowded
house would not put the housekeeper to her trumps^ to
accommodate them.

^^ Pshaw,'' cried mine host; ^^did you ever know a
bachelor's hall that was not elastic, and able to accom- 10
modate twice as many as it could hold ? " So, out of a
good-humored pique, the housekeeper was summoned to
a consultation before us all. The old lady appeared in
her gala suit of faded brocade, ° which rustled with flurry
and agitation; for, in spite of our host's bravado, she was 15
a little perplexed. But in a bachelor's house, and with
bachelor guests, these matters are readily managed.
There is no lady of the house to stand upon squeamish
points about lodging gentlemen in odd holes and corners,
and exposing the shabby parts of the establishment. A 20
bachelor's housekeeper is used to shifts and emergencies;
so, after much worrying to and fro, and divers consulta-
tions about the red-room, and the blue-room, and the
chintz-room, ° and the damask-room, and the little room
with the bow-window, the matter was finally arranged. 25

When all this was done we were once more summoned
to the standing rural amusement of eating. The time that
had been consumed in dozing after dinner, and in the
refreshment and consultation of the cedar-parlor, ° was
sufficient, in the opinion of the rosy-faced butler, to en- 30
gender a reasonable appetite for supper. A slight repast
had, therefore, been tricked up from the residue of dinner,
consisting of a cold sirloin of beef, hashed venison, a

12 TALES OF A TRAVELLER

devilled leg of a turkey or so, and a few other of those
light articles taken by country gentlemen to ensure sound
sleep and heavy snoring. °

The nap after dinner had brightened up every one^s
5 wit ; and a great deal of excellent humor was expended
upon the perplexities of mine host and his housekeeper,
by certain married gentlemen of the company, who con-
sidered themselves privileged in joking with a bachelor ^s
establishment. From this the banter turned as to what
lo quarters each would find, on being thus suddenly billeted
in so antiquated a mansion.

^^By my soul,'' said an Irish captain of dragoons, one
of the most merry and boisterous of the party, ^^by my
soul, but I should not be surprised if some of those good-
15 looking gentle-folks that hang along the walls should walk
about the rooms of this stormy night; or, if I should find
the ghosts of one of those long-waisted ladies turning
into my bed in mistake for her grave in the churchyard.''

^^Do you believe in ghosts, then?" said a thin, hatchet-
20 faced gentleman, with projecting eyes like a lobster. °

I had remarked this last personage during dinner-time
for one of those incessant questioners, who have a craving,
unhealthy appetite in conversation. He never seemed
satisfied with the whole of a story; never laughed when
25 others laughed; but always put the joke to the question.
He never could enjoy the kernel of the nut, but pestered
himself to get more out of the shell. '^Do you believe
in ghosts, then?" said the inquisitive gentleman.

^' Faith, but I do," replied the jovial Irishman. ^'I
30 was brought up in the fear and belief of them. We had a
Benshee° in our own family, honey."

^^A Benshee, and what's that?" cried the questioner.

''Why, an old lady ghost that tends upon your real

THE HUNTINQ-DINNEB, 13

Milesian® families, and waits at their window to let them
know when some of them are to die/^

^^A mighty pleasant piece of information!^' cried an
elderly gentleman with a knowing look, and with a
flexible nose, to which he could give a whimsical twist when 5
he wished to be waggish.

"By my soul, but I'd have you to know it's a piece of
distinction to be waited on by a Benshee. It's a proof
that one has pure blood in one's veins. But i' faith,
now we are talking of ghosts, there never was a house or 10
a night better fitted for a ghost adventure. Pray, Sir
John, haven't you such a thing as a haunted chamber to
put a guest in ? "

"Perhaps," said the Baronet, smiling, "I might ac-
commodate you even on that point." 15

"Oh, I should like it of all things, my jewel. Some
dark oaken room, with ugly woe-begone portraits, that
stare dismally at one; and about which the housekeeper
has a power of delightful stories of love and murder. And
then, a dim lamp, a table with a rusty sword across it, and 20
a spectre all in white, to draw aside one's curtains at mid-
night "

"In truth," said an old gentleman at one end of the
table, "you put me in mind of an anecdote "

"Oh, a ghost story! a ghost story!" was vociferated 25
round the board, every one edging his chair a little nearer.

The attention of the whole company was now turned
upon the speaker. He was an old gentleman, one side
of whose face was no match for the other. The eyelid
drooped and hung down like an unhinged window-shutter. 3c
Indeed, the whole side of his head was dilapidated, and
seemed like the wing of a house shut up and haunted.
I'll warrant that side was well stuffed with ghost stories.

14 TALES OF A TRAVELLER

' There was a universal demand for the tale.

^^Nay/^ said the old gentleman, ^^it^s a mere anecdote,
and a very commonplace one; but such as it is you shall
have it. It is a story that I once heard my uncle tell as
5 having happened to himself. He was a man very apt to
meet with strange adventures. I have heard him tell of
others much more singular. '^

^^What kind of a man was your uncle ?^^ said the ques-
tioning gentleman,
lo '^Why, he was rather a dry, shrewd kind of body; a
great traveller, and fond of telling his adventures.''

"Pray, how old might he have been when that hap-
pened ? ''

"When what happened?" cried the gentleman with the
15 flexible nose, impatiently. "Egad, you have not given
any thing a chance to happen. Come, never mind our
uncle's age; let us have his adventures."

The inquisitive gentleman being for the moment silenced,
the old gentleman with the haunted head° proceeded.

THE ADVENTURE OF MY UNCLE

Many years since, some time before the French Revo-
lution, ° my uncle passed several months at Paris.
The English and French were on better terms in those
days than at present, and mingled cordially in society.
The English went abroad to spend money then, and the 5
French were always ready to help them : they go abroad
to save money at present, ° and that they can do without
French assistance. Perhaps the travelling English were
fewer and choicer than at present, when the whole nation
has broke loose and inundated the continent. At any 10
rate, they circulated more readily and currently in for-
eign society, and my uncle, during his residence in Paris,
made many very intimate acquaintances among the
French noblesse. °

Some time afterwards, he was making a journey in 15
the winter time in that part of Normandy called the
Pays de Caux,° when, as evening was closing in, he per-
ceived the turrets of an ancient chateau® rising out of
the trees of its walled park; each turret with its high
conical roof of gray slate, like a candle with an extin- 20
guisher on it.

^^To whom does that chateau belong, friend?'^ cried
my uncle to a meagre but fiery postilion, ° who, with tre-
mendous jack-boots and cocked hat, was floundering on
before him. 25

15

16 TALES OF A TRAVELLER

''To Monseigneur the Marquis de /' said the

postilion, touching his hat, partly out of respect to my
uncle, and partly out of reverence to the noble name
pronounced.
5 My uncle recollected the Marquis for a particular
friend in Paris, who had often expressed a wish to see
him at his paternal chateau. My uncle was an old traveller,
one who knew well how to turn things to account. He
revolved for a few moments in his mind, how agreeable

lo it would be to his friend the Marquis to be surprised in
this sociable way by a pop visit°; and how much more
agreeable to himself to get into snug quarters in a chateau,
and have a relish of the Marquis^ well-known kitchen,
and a smack ° of his superior champagne and burgundy,

15 rather than put up with the miserable lodgment and
miserable fare of a provincial inn. In a few minutes,
therefore, the meagre postilion was cracking his whip
like a very devil, or like a true Frenchman, up the long,
straight avenue that led to the chateau.

20 You have no doubt all seen French chateaux, as every-
body travels in France nowadays. This was one of the
oldest ; standing naked and alone in the midst of a desert
of gravel walks and cold stone terraces; with a cold-
looking, formal garden, cut into angles and rhomboids;

25 and a cold, leafless park, divided geometrically by straight
alleys; and two or three cold-looking noiseless statues;
and fountains^ spouting cold water enough to make one^s
teeth chatter. At least such was the feeling they im-
parted on the wintry day of my uncle's visit; though, in

30 hot summer weather, I'll warrant there was glare enough
to scorch one's eyes out.

The smacking of the postilion's whip, which grew more
and more intense the nearer they approached, fright-

THE ADVENTURE OF MY UNCLE 17

ened a flight of pigeons out of a dove-cot, and rooks out
of the roofs, and finally a crew of servants out of the
chateau, with the Marquis at their head. He was en-
chanted to see my uncle, for his chateau, like the house
of our worthy host,° had not many more guests at the 5
time than it could accommodate. So he kissed my uncle
on the cheek, after the French fashion, and ushered him
into the castle.

The Marquis did the honors of the house with the
urbanity of his country. In fact, he was proud of his 10
old family chateau, for part of it was extremely old.
There was a tower and chapel which had been built
almost before the memory of man; but the rest was
more modern, the castle having been nearly demolished
during the wars of the league. ° The Marquis dwelt upon 15
this event with great satisfaction, and seemed really to
entertain a grateful feeling towards Henry the Fourth, °
for having thought his paternal mansion worth battering
down. He had many stories to tell of the prowess of his
ancestors ; and several skullcaps, helmets, and cross- 20
bows,° and divers huge boots and buff jerkins, to show,
which had been worn by the leaguers. Above all, there
was a two-handed sword, which he could hardly wield,
but which he displayed, as a proof that there had been
giants in his family. 25

In truth, he was but a small descendant from such
great warriors. When you looked at their bluff visages
and brawny limbs, as depicted in their portraits, and then
at the little Marquis, with his spindle-shanks, and his
sallow lantern visage, flanked with a pair of powdered 30
ear-locks, ° or atles de pigeon, that seemed ready to fly
away with it, you could hardly believe him to be of the
same race. But when you looked at the eyes that sparkled

18 TALES OF A TRAVELLER

out like a beetle ^s from each side of his hooked nose, you
saw at once that he inherited all the fiery spirit of his
forefathers. In fact, a Frenchman's spirit never exhales,
however his body may dwindle. It rather rarefies, and
5 grows more inflammable, as the earthly particles dimin-
ish ; and I have seen valor enough in a little fiery-hearted
French dwarf to have furnished out a tolerable giant. °

When once the Marquis, as was his wont, put on one
of the old helmets stuck up in his hall, though his head

lo no more filled it than a dry pea its peascod, yet his eyes
flashed from the bottom of the iron cavern with the
brilliancy of carbuncles ° ; and when he poised the ponder-
ous two-handed sword of his ancestors, you would have
thought you saw the doughty little David wielding the

1 5 sword of Goliath, which was unto him like a weaver's beam.°
However, gentlemen, ° I am dwelling too long on this
description of the Marquis and his chateau, but you must
excuse me ; he was an old friend of my uncle ; and when-
ever my uncle told the story, he was always fond of talk-

2o ing a great deal about his host. Poor little Marquis !
He was one of that handful of gallant courtiers who made
such a devoted but hopeless stand in the cause of their
sovereign, in the chateau of the Tuileries,° against the
irruption^ of the mob on the sad tenth of August. ° He

25 displayed the valor of a preux French chevalier ° to the
last, flourishing feebly his little court-sword with a ga-ga° !
in face of a whole legion of sans-culoties^ ; but was pinned
to the wall like a butterfly, by the pike of a poissardey^
and his heroic soul was borne up to heaven on his atles

30 de pigeon. °

But all this has nothing to do with my story. To the
point, then. When the hour arrived for retiring for the
night, my uncle was shown to his room in a veritable old

THE ADVENTURE OF MY UNCLE 19

tower. It was the oldest part of the chateau, and had in
ancient times been the donjon° or strong-hold; of course
the chamber was none of the best. The Marquis had
put him there, however, because he knew him to be a
traveller of taste, and fond of antiquities ; and also be- 5
cause the better apartments were already occupied. In-
deed, he perfectly reconciled my uncle to his quarters by
mentioning the great personages who had once inhabited
them, all of whom were, in some way or other, connected
with the family. If you would take his word for it, John 10
Baliol,° or as he called him, Jean de Bailleul, had died of
chagrin in this very chamber, on hearing of the success
of his rival, Robert de Bruce, at the battle of Bannock-
burn. ° And when he added that the Duke de Guise°
had slept in it, my uncle was fain to felicitate himself on 15
being honored with such distinguished quarters.

The night was shrewd and windy, and the chamber
none of the warmest. An old long-faced, long-bodied
servant, in quaint livery, w^ho attended upon my uncle,
threw down an armful of wood beside the fireplace, gave 20
a queer look about the room, and then wished him hon
repos with a grimace and a shrug that would have been
suspicious from any other than an old French servant.

The chamber had indeed a wild, crazy look, enough to
strike any one who had read romances with apprehension 25
and foreboding. The windows were high and narrow,
and had once been loop-holes, but had been rudely en-
larged, as well as the extreme thickness of the walls would
permit; and the ill-fitted casements rattled to every
breeze. You would have thought, on a windy night, 30
some of the old leaguers were tramping and clanking
about the apartment in their huge boots and rattling
spurs. A door which stood ajar, and, like ^ truQ FreBch

20 TALES OF A TRAVELLER

door, would stand ajar in spite of every reason and effort
to the contrary, opened upon a long dark corridor, that
led the Lord knows whither, and seemed just made for
ghosts to air themselves in, when they turned out of their
5 graves at midnight. The wind would spring up into a
hoarse murmur through this passage, and creak the door
to and fro, as if some dubious ghost were balancing in its
mind whether to come in or not. In a word, it was pre-
cisely the kind of comfortless apartment that a ghost, if

lo ghost there were in the chateau, would single out for its
favorite lounge.

My uncle, however, though a man accustomed to meet
with strange adventures, apprehended none at the time.
He made several attempts to shut the door, but in vain.

15 Not that he apprehended any thing, for he was too old
a traveller to be daunted by a wild-looking apartment;
but the night, as I have said, was cold and gusty, and the
wind howled about the old turret pretty much as it does
round this old mansion at this moment, ° and the breeze

20 from the long dark corridor came in as damp and chilly
as if from a dungeon. My uncle, therefore, since he could
not close the door, threw a quantity of wood on the fire,
which soon sent up a flame in the great wide-mouthed
chimney that illumined the whole chamber, and made

25 the shadow of the tongs on the opposite wall look like a
long-legged giant. My uncle now clambered on the top
of the half-score of mattresses which form a French bed,
and which stood in a deep recess; then tucking himself
snugly in, and burying himself up to the chin in the bed-

30 clothes, he lay looking into the fire, and listening to the
wind, and thinking how knowingly he had come over
his friend the Marquis for a night's lodging — and so he
fell asleep.

THE ADVENTURE OF MY UNCLE 21

He had not taken above half of his first nap when he
was awakened by the clock of the chateau, in the turret
over his chamber, which struck midnight. It was just
such an old clock as ghosts are fond of. It had a deep,
dismal tone, and struck so slowly and tediously that my 5
uncle thought it would never have done. He counted
and counted till he was confident he counted thirteen,
and then it stopped.

The fire had burnt low, and the blaze of the last fagot^
was almost expiring, burning in small blue flames, which 10
now and then lengthened up into httle white gleams.
My uncle lay with his eyes half closed, and his nightcap
drawn almost down to his nose. His fancy was already
wandering, and began to mingle up the present scene
with the crater of Vesuvius, the French Opera, the Coli-is
seum at Rome, Dolly's chop-house in London, and
all the farrago ° of noted places with which the brain
of a traveller is crammed, — in a word, he was just
falling asleep.

Suddenly he was roused by the sound of footsteps, 20
slowly pacing along the corridor. My uncle, as I have
often heard him say himself, was a man not easily fright-
ened. So he lay quiet, supposing this some other guest,
or some servant on his way to bed. The footsteps, how-
ever, approached the door; the door gently opened, — 25
whether of its own accord, or whether pushed open, my
uncle could not distinguish ; a figure all in white glided in.
It was a female, tall and stately, and of a commanding air.
Her dress was of an ancient fashion, ample in volume, and
sweeping the floor. She walked up to the fireplace, 30
without regarding my uncle, who raised his nightcap^
with one hand, and stared earnestly at her. She remained
for some time standing by the fire, which, flashing up at

22 TALES OF A TRAVELLER

intervals, cast blue and white gleams of light, that enabled
my uncle to remark her appearance minutely.

Her face was ghastly pale, and perhaps rendered still
more so by the bluish light of the fire. It possessed
5 beauty, but its beauty was saddened by care and anxiety.
There was the look of one accustomed to trouble, but of one
whom trouble could not cast down nor subdue; for there
was still the predominating air of proud, unconquerable
resolution. Such at least was the opinion formed by my

lo uncle, and he considered himself a great physiognomist.

The figure remained, as I said for some time by the fire,

putting out first one hand, then the other; then each

foot alternately, as if warming itself; for your ghosts,

if ghost it really was, are apt to be cold. My uncle,

1 5 furthermore remarked that it wore high-heeled shoes,
after an ancient fashion, with paste or diamond buckles,
that sparkled as though they were alive. At length the
figure turned gently round, casting a glassy look about
the apartment, which, as it passed over my uncle, made

2o his blood run cold, and chilled the very marrow in his
bones. It ^then stretched its arms towards heaven,
clasped its hands, and wringing them in a supplicating
manner, glided slowly out of the room.

My uncle lay for some time meditating on this visita-

2 5tion, for (as he remarked when he told me the story)
though a man of firmness, he was also a man of reflection,
and did not reject a thing because it was out of the regular
course of events. However, being, as I have before said,
a great traveller, and accustomed to strange- adventures,

30 he drew his nightcap resolutely over his eyes, turned his
back to the door, hoisted the bedclothes high over his
shoulders, and gradually fell asleep.

How long he slept he could not say, when he was awak-

THE ADVENTURE OF MY UNCLE 23

ened by the voice of some one at his bedside. He turned
round, and beheld the old French servant, with his ear-
locks in tight buckles on each side of a long lantern face,
on which habit had deeply wrinkled an everlasting smile.
He made a thousand grimaces, and asked a thousand 5
pardons for disturbing Monsieur, but the morning was
considerably advanced. While my uncle was dressing he
called vaguely to mind the visitor of the preceding night.
He asked the ancient domestic what lady was in the
habit of rambUng about this part of the chateau at night. 10
The old valet shrugged his shoulders as high as his head,
laid one hand on his bosom, threw open the other with
every finger extended, made a most whimsical grimace
which he meant to be complimentary, and replied that
it was not for him to know any thing of les honnes fortunes 15
of Monsieur.

My uncle saw there was nothing satisfactory to be
learned in this quarter. After breakfast he was walking
with the Marquis through the modern apartments of the
chateau, sliding over the well-waxed floors of silken saloons, 20
amidst furniture rich in gilding and brocade, until they
came to a long picture-gallery, containing many portraits,
some in oil and some in chalks.

Here was an ample field for the eloquence of his host,
who had all the pride of a nobleman of the ancien regime.^ 25
There was not a grand name in Normandy, and hardly one
in France, which was not, in some way or other, connected
with his house. My uncle stood listening with inward
impatience, resting sometimes on one leg, sometimes on
the other, as the little Marquis descanted, ° with his usual 30
fire and vivacity, on the achievements of his ancestors,
whose portraits hung along the wall; from the martial
deeds of the stern warriors in steel, to the gallantries and

24 TALES OF A TRAVELLER

intrigues of the blue-eyed gentlemen, with fair smiling
faces, powdered ear-locks, laced ruffles, and pink and blue
silk coats and breeches ; — not forgetting the conquests
of the lovely shepherdesses, with hooped petticoats, and
5 waists no thicker than an hour-glass, who appeared ruling
over their sheep and their swains, with dainty crooks
decorated with fluttering ribbons.

In the midst of his friend ^s discourse, my uncle was
startled on beholding a full-length portrait, the very

lo counterpart of his visitor of the preceding night.

^^ Me thinks,^' said he, pointing to it, ^'I have seen the
original of this portrait.''

^' Pardonnez moi/^ ° repKed the Marquis poHtely, 'Hhat
can hardly be, as the lady has been dead more than a hun-

15 dred years. That was the beautiful Duchess de Longue-
ville, who figured during the minority of Louis the
Fourteenth.''

'^And was there any thing remarkable in her history?"
Never was question more unlucky. The httle Marquis

2o immediately threw himself into the attitude of a man
about to tell a long story. In fact, my uncle had pulled,
upon himself the whole history of the civil war of the
Fronde, ° in which the beautiful Duchess had played
so distinguished a part. Turenne,° Coligni,° Mazarin,°

25 were called up from their graves to grace his narration;
nor were the affairs of the Barricadoes,° nor the chivalry
of the Port Cocheres forgotten. My uncle began to wish
himself a thousand leagues off from the Marquis and his
merciless memory, when suddenly the little, man's rec-

3oollections took a more interesting turn. He was re-
lating the imprisonment of the Duke de Longueville^
with the Princes Conde° and Conti° in the chateau of
Vincennes,° and the ineffectual .efforts of the Duchess to

THE ADVENTURE OF MY UNCLE 25

rouse the sturdy Normans to their rescue. He had come
to that part where she was invested by the royal forces
in the Castle of Dieppe. °

'^The spirit of the Duchess/' proceeded the Marquis,
"rose from her trials. It was astonishing to see so deli- 5
cate and beautiful a being buffet so resolutely with hard-
ships. She determined on a desperate means of escape.
You may have seen the chateau in which she was mewed
up, — an old ragged wart of an edifice, standing on the
knuckle of a hill, just above the rusty little town of Dieppe. 10
One dark unruly night she issued secretly out of a small
postern° gate of the castle, which the enemy had neg-
lected to guard. The postern gate is there to this very
day; opening upon a narrow bridge over a deep fosse®
between the castle and the brow of the hill. She was 15
followed by her female attendants, a few domestics, and
some gallant cavaliers, who still remained faithful to her
fortunes. Her object was to gain a small port about two
leagues distant, where she had previously provided a
vessel for her escape in case of emergency. 20

"The little band of fugitives were obliged to perform
the distance on foot. When they arrived at the port the
wind was high and stormy, the tide contrary, the vessel
anchored far off in the road, and no means of getting on
board but by a fishing-shallop which lay tossing like a 25
cockle-shell on the edge of the surf. The Duchess deter-
mined to risk the attempt. The seamen endeavored to
dissuade her, but the imminence of her danger on shore,
and the magnanimity of her spirit, urged her on. She
had to be borne to the shallop in the arms of a mariner. 30
Such was the violence of the wind and waves that he
faltered, lost his foothold, and let his precious burden
fall into the sea.

26 TALES OF A TRAVELLER

"The Duchess was nearly drowned, but partly through
her own struggles, partly by the exertions of the seamen,
she got to land. As soon as she had a little recovered
strength, she insisted on renewing the attempt. The
5 storm, however, had by this time become so violent as
to set all efforts at defiance. To delay, was to be dis-
covered and taken prisoner. As the only resource left,
she procured horses, mounted with her female attendants,
en croupe,^ behind the gallant gentlemen who accom-

lo panied her, and scoured the country to seek some tempo-
rary asylum.

"While the Duchess,^' continued the Marquis, laying
his forefinger on my nucleus breast to arouse his flagging
attention, — "while the Duchess, poor lady, was wan-

1 5 dering amid the tempest in this disconsolate manner, she
arrived at this chateau. Her approach caused some un-
easiness; for the clattering of a troop of horse at dead of
night up the avenue of a lonely chateau, in those unsettled
times, and in a troubled part of the country, was enough to

2o occasion alarm.

"A tall, broad-shouldered chasseur, ° armed to the
teeth, galloped ahead, and announced the name of the
visitor. All uneasiness was dispelled. The household
turned out with flambeaux° to receive her, and never did

25 torches gleam on a more weather-beaten, travel-stained
band than came tramping into the court. Such pale,
careworn faces, such bedraggled dresses, as the poor
Duchess and her females presented, each seated behind a
cavalier ; while the half-drenched, half-drowsy pages and

30 attendants seemed ready to fall from their horses with
sleep and fatigue.

"The Duchess was received with a hearty welcome by
my ancestor. She was ushered into the hall of the cha-

THE ADVENTURE OF MY UNCLE 27

teau, and the fires soon crackled and blazed to cheer herself
and her train; and every spit° and stew-pan was put in
requisition to prepare ample refreshment for the wayfarers.

'^She had a right to our hospitalities/^ continued the
Marquis, drawing himself up with a slight degree of state- 5
liness, ^^for she was related to our family. 1^11 tell you
how it was. Her father, Henry de Bourbon, Prince of
Conde ''

'^But did the Duchess pass the night in the chateau?''
said my uncle rather abruptly, terrified at the idea of 10
getting involved in one of the Marquis' genealogical
discussions.

^^Oh, as to the Duchess, she was put into the very apart-
ment you occupied last night, which at that time was a
kind of state-apartment. Her followers were quartered 15
in the chambers opening upon the neighboring corridor,
and her favorite page slept in an adjoining closet. Up
and down the corridor walked the great chasseur who had
announced her arrival, and who acted as a kind of sentinel
or guard. He was a dark, stern, powerful-looking fellow ; 20
and as the light of a lamp in the corridor fell upon his
deeply-marked face and sinewy form, he seemed capable
of defending the castle with his single arm.

^^ It was a rough, rude night ; about this time of the year
— apropos ! — now I think of it, last night was the an- 25
niversary of her visit. I may well remember the precise
date, for it was a night not to be forgotten by our house.
There is a singular tradition concerning it in our family."
Here the Marquis hesitated, and a cloud seemed to gather
about his bushy eyebrows. ^' There is a tradition — 30
that a strange occurrence took place that night. A
strange, mysterious, inexplicable occurrence — " Here
he checked himself, and paused.

28 TALES OF A TRAVELLER

" Did it relate to that lady ? '' inquired my uncle, eagerly.

'^It was past the hour of midnight/' resumed the Mar-
quis, — ''when the whole chateau '^ Here he paused

again. My uncle made a movement of anxious curiosity.
5 "Excuse me/' said the Marquis, a slight blush streaking
his sallow visage. ''There are some circumstances con-
nected with our family history which I do not like to
relate. That was a rude period. A time of great crimes
among great men : for you know high blood, when it runs
lo wrong, will not run tamely, like blood of the canaille^ —
poor lady ! — But I have a little family pride, that — ex-
cuse me — we will change the subject, if you please ''

My uncle's curiosity was piqued. The pompous and
magnificent introduction had led him to expect something
15 wonderful in the story to which it served as a kind of
avenue. He had no idea of being cheated out of it by
a sudden fit of unreasonable squeamishness. Besides,
being a traveller in quest of information, he considered it
his duty to inquire into every thing.
20 The Marquis, however, evaded every question.

"Well," said my uncle, a little petulantly, "whatever
you may think of it, I saw that lady last night."

The Marquis stepped back and gazed at him with sur-
prise.
25 "She paid me a visit in my bedchamber."

The Marquis pulled out his snuff-box with a shrug and a
smile; taking this no doubt for an awkward piece of
English pleasantry, which politeness required him to be
charmed with.
30 My uncle went on gravely, however, and related the
whole circumstance. The Marquis heard him through
with profound attention, holding his snuff-box unopened
in his hand. When the story was finished^ he tapped on

THE ADVENTURE OF MY UNCLE 29

the lid of his box deUberately, took a long, sonorous pinch

of snuff

"Bah !'' said the Marquis, and walked towards the other
end of the gallery.

Here the narrator paused. The company waited for 5
some time for him to resume his narration; but he con-
tinued silent.

"Well,'' said the inquisitive gentleman, — "and what
did your uncle say then ? "

"Nothing,'' replied the other. 10

"And what did the Marquis say farther?"

"Nothing."

"And is that all?"

"That is all," ° said the narrator, filling a glass of wine.

"I surmise," said the shrewd old gentleman with the 15
waggish nose, — "I surmise the ghost must have been the old
housekeeper, walking her rounds to see that all was right."

"Bah!" said the narrator. "My uncle was too much
accustomed to strange sights not to know a ghost from
a housekeeper." ^ 20

There was a murmur round the table, half of merriment,
half of disappointment. I was inclined to think the old
gentleman had really an after-part of his story in reserve ;
but he sipped his wine and said nothing more ; and there
was an odd expression about his dilapidated countenance 25
which left me in doubt whether he were in drollery or earnest.

"Egad,"° said the knowing gentleman, with the flexible
nose, "this story of your uncle puts me in mind of one
that used to be told of an aunt of mine, by the mother's
side ; though I don't know that it will bear a comparison, 30
as the good lady was not so prone to meet with strange
adventures. But at any rate you shall have it."

THE ADVENTURE OF MY AUNT

My aunt was a lady of large frame, strong mind, and
great resolution ; she was what might be termed a very
manly woman. My uncle was a thin, puny little man,
very meek and acquiescent, ° and no match for my aunt.
5 It was observed that he dwindled and dwindled
gradually away, from the day of his marriage. His
wife's powerful mind was too much for him ; it wore him
out. My aunt, however, took all possible care of him;
had half the doctors in town to prescribe for him; made

lo him take all their prescriptions, and dosed him with
physic enough to cure a whole hospital. All was in vain.°
My uncle grew worse and worse the more dosing and
nursing he underwent, until in the end he added another
to the long list of matrimonial victims who have been

15 killed with kindness.

^^And was it his ghost that appeared to her?'' asked
the inquisitive gentleman, who had questioned the former
story-teller.

^^You shall hear," rephed the narrator. ^^My aunt

20 took on mightily for the death of her poor dear husband.
Perhaps she felt some compunction at having given him
so much physic, and nursed him into the grave. At any
rate, she did all that a widow could do to honor his
memory. She spared no expense in either the quantity

25 or quality of her mourning weeds ; wore a miniature^

30

THE ADVENTURE OF MY AUNT 31

of him about her neck as large as a httle sundial, and had
a full-length portrait of him always hanging in her bed-
chamber. All the world extolled her conduct to the
skies ; and it was determined that a woman who behaved
so well to the memory of one husband deserved soon to 5
get another.

It was not long after this that she went to take up her
residence in an old country-seat in Derbyshire, ° which
had long been in the care of merely a steward and a house-
keeper. She took most of her servants with her, intending 10
to make it her principal abode. The house stood in a
lonely, wild part of the country, among the gray Derby-
shire hills, with a murderer hanging in chains on a bleak
height in full view.

The servants from town were half frightened out of 15
their wits at the idea of living in such a dismal, pagan-
looking place ; especially when they got together in the
servants' hall in the evening, and compared notes on all
the hobgoblin stories picked up in the course of the day.
They were afraid to venture alone about the gloomy, 20
black-looking chambers. My lady's maid, who was
troubled with nerves, declared she could never sleep alone
in such a ^gashly rummaging old building'; and the
footman, who was a kind-hearted young fellow, did all in
his power to cheer her up. 25

My aunt was struck with the lonely appearance of the
house. Before going to bed, therefore, she examined well
the fastenings of the doors and windows; locked up the
plate with her own hands, and carried the keys, together
with a little box of money and jewels, to her own room; 30
for she was a notable woman, and always saw to all things
herself. Having put the keys under her pillow, and dis-
missed her maid, she sat by her toilet arranging her hair ;

32 TALES OF A TRAVELLER

for being, in spite of her grief for my uncle, rather a buxom
widow, she was somewhat particular about her person.
She sat for a little while looking at her face in the glass,
first on one side, then on the other, as ladies are apt to
5 do when they would ascertain whether they have been in
good looks; for a roistering country squire of the neigh-
borhood, with whom she had flirted when a girl, had called
that day to welcome her to the country.

All of a sudden she thought she heard something move

lo behind her. She looked hastily round, but there was
nothing to be seen, — nothing but the grimly painted
portrait of her poor dear man, hanging against the wall.

She gave a heavy sigh to his memory, as she was
accustomed to do whenever she spoke of him in com-

ispany, and then went on adjusting her night-dress, and
thinking of the squire. Her sigh was re-echoed, or answered
by a long-drawn breath. She looked round again, but
no one was to be seen. She ascribed these sounds to the
wind oozing through the rat-holes of the old mansion,

20 and proceeded leisurely to put her hair in papers, when,
all at once, she thought she perceived one of the eyes of
the portrait move.^'

^^The back of her head being towards it!^' said the
story-teller with the ruined head, — "good!"°

25 ^' Yes, sir ! '^ replied dryly the narrator, ^^her back being
towards the portrait, but her eyes fixed on its reflection
in the glass. Well, as I was saying, she perceived one
of the eyes of the portrait move. So strange a circum-
stance, as you may well suppose, gave her a sudden shock.

30 To assure herself of the fact, she put one hand to her fore-
head as if rubbing it; peeped through the fingers, and
moved the candle with- the other hand. The light of the
taper gleamed on the eye, and was reflected from it.

THE ADVENTURE OF MY AUNT 33

She was sure it moved. Nay, more, it seemed to give
her a wink, as she had sometimes known her husband to
do when Hving ! It struck a momentary chill to her heart ;
for she was a lone woman, and felt herself fearfully situated.

The chill was but transient. My aunt, who was almost 5
as resolute a personage as your uncle, sir (turning to the
old story-teller), became instantly calm and collected.
She went on adjusting her dress. She even hummed an
air, and did not make even a single false note. She casu-
ally overturned a dressing-box ; took a candle and picked 10
up the articles one by one from the floor ; pursued a rolling
pin-cushion that was making the best of its way under the
bed ; then opened the door ; looked for an instant into the
corridor, as if in doubt whether to go; and then walked
quietly out. 15

She hastened down stairs, ordered the servants to arm
themselves with the weapons first at hand, placed herself
at their head, and returned almost immediately.

Her hastily levied army presented a formidable force.
The steward had a rusty blunder-buss, ° the coachman a 20
loaded whip, the footman a pair of horse-pistols, the cook
a huge chopping-knife, and the butler a bottle in each
hand. My aunt led the van with a red-hot poker, and in
my opinion she was the most formidable of the party.
The waiting-maid, who dreaded to stay alone in the ser- 25
vants^ hall, brought up the rear, smelling at a broken
bottle of volatile salts, and expressing her terror of the
ghostesses. ^Ghosts!' said my aunt, resolutely. ^I'U
singe their whiskers for them ! '

They entered the chamber. All was still and undis- 30
turbed as when she had left it. They approached the
portrait of my uncle.

^ Pull down that picture ! ' cried my aunt. A heavy

34 TALES OF A TRAVELLER

groan, and a sound like the chattering of teeth, issued
from the portrait. The servants shrunk back; the maid
uttered a faint shriek, and clung to the footman for sup-
port.
5 ^ Instantly ! ' added my aunt, with a stamp of the foot.

The picture was pulled down, and from a recess behind

it, in which had formerly stood a clock, they hauled forth

a round-shouldered, black-bearded varlet,° with a knife

as long as my arm, but trembling all over like an aspen

lo leaf.^'

^'Well, and who was he? No ghost, I suppose/' said
the inquisitive gentleman.

^'A Knight of the Post,''° replied the narrator, ''who
had been smitten with the worth of the wealthy widow;
1 5 or rather a marauding Tarquin, who had stolen into her
chamber to violate her purse, and rifle her strong box, when
all the house should be asleep. In plain terms,'' continued
he, 'Hhe vagabond was a loose idle fellow of the neighbor-
hood, who had once been a servant in the house, and had
2o been employed to assist in arranging it for the reception
of its mistress. He confessed that he had contrived this
hiding-place for his nefarious purpose, and had borrowed
an eye from the portrait by way of a reconnoitring-hole."

"And what did they do with him? — did they hang
25 him?" resumed the questioner.

''Hang him! — -how could they?" exclaimed a beetle-
browed barrister, with a hawk's nose. "The offence was
not capital. No robbery, no assault had been committed.

No forcible entry or breaking into the premises "

30 "My aunt," said the narrator, "was a woman of spirit,
and apt to take the law in her own hands. She had her
own notions of cleanliness also. She ordered the fellow
to be drawn through the horse-pond, to cleanse away all

THE ADVENTURE OF MY AUNT 35

offences, and then to be well rubbed down with an oaken
towel/' °

^^And what became of him afterwards ? '' said the
inquisitive gentleman.

^'I do not exactly know. I believe he was sent on a 5
voyage of improvement to Botany Bay.° ''

^^And your aunt/' said the inquisitive gentleman; ^^I'U
warrant she took care to make her maid sleep in the
room with her after that.''

^^No, sir, she did better; she gave her hand shortly 10
after to the roistering squire ; for she used to observe that
it was a dismal thing for a woman to sleep alone in the
country."

^'She was right," observed the inquisitive gentleman,
nodding sagaciously; ^'but I am sorry they did not hang 15
that fellow."

It was agreed on all hands that the last narrator had
brought his tale to the most satisfactory conclusion,
though a country clergyman present regretted that the
uncle and aunt, who figured in the different stories, had 20
not been married together; they certainly would have
been well matched.

PART SECOND
BUCKTHORNE AND HIS FRIENDS

This world is the best that we Hve in,
To lend, or to spend, or to give in;
But to beg, or to borrow, or get a man^s own,
'Tis the very worst world, sir, that ever was known.
— Lines from an Inn Window,

PART SECOND
BUCKTHORNE AND HIS FRIENDS

LITERARY LIFE

Among other subjects of a traveller's curiosity, I had at
one time a great craving after anecdotes of literary life;
and being at London, one of the most noted places for the
production of books, I was excessively anxious to know
something of the afiimals which produced them. Chance 5
fortunately threw me in the way of a literary man by the
name of Buckthorne, an eccentric personage, who had
lived much in the metropolis, and could give me the
natural history of every odd animal to be met with in that
wilderness of men. He readily imparted to me some 10
useful hints upon the subject of my inquiry,

^'The literary world,'' said he, "is made up of httle
confederacies, each looking upon its own members as the
lights of the universe, and considering all others as mere
transient meteors, doomed soon to fall and be forgotten, 15
while its own luminaries^ are to shine steadily on to
immortahty."

"And pray," said I, "how is a man to get a peep into
those confederacies you speak of? I presume an inter-
course with authors is a kind of intellectual exchange, 20
where one must bring his commodities to barter, and
always give a quid pro quo.^ "

39

40 TALES OF A TRAVELLER

^'Pooh, pooh! how you mistake/' said Buckthorne,
smiHng; "you must never think to become popular
among wits by shining. They go into society to shine
themselves, not to admire the brilliancy of others. I
5 once thought as you do, and never went into literary
society without studying my part beforehand; the con-
sequence was, that I soon got the name of an intolerable
proser, and should in a little while have been completely
excommunicated, ° had I not changed my plan of opera-

lotions. No, sir, no character succeeds so well among wits
as that of a good listener; or if ever you are eloquent,
let it be when tete-a-tete^ with an author, and then in
praise of his own w^orks, or, what is nearly as acceptable,
in disparagement of the works of his contemporaries. If

15 ever he speaks favorably of the productions of a par-
ticular friend, dissent boldly from him; pronounce his
friend to be a blockhead; never fear his being vexed..
Much as people speak of the irritability of authors, I
never found one to take offence at such contradictions.

20 No, no, sir, authors are particularly candid in admitting
the faults of their friends. °

"Indeed, I would advise you to be exceedingly sparing
of remarks on all modern works, except to make sarcastic
observations on the most distinguished writers of the

25 day.''

"Faith," said I, "I'll praise none that have not been
dead for at least half a century."

"Even then," observed Mr. Buckthorne, "I would
advise you to be rather cautious ; for you must know that

30 many old writers have been enlisted under the banners
of different sects, and their merits have become as com-
pletely topics of party discussion as the merits of living
statesmen and politicians. Nay, there have been whole

LITERARY LIFE 41

periods of literature absolutely taboo'd,° to use a South
Sea phrase. It is, for example, as much as a man's critical
reputation is worth in some circles, to say a word in praise
of any of the writers of the reign of Charles the Second, °
or even of Queen Anne,° they being all declared French- 5
men in disguise/'

'^And pray,'' said I, ^^when am I then to know that I
am on safe grounds, being totally unacquainted with the
literary landmarks, ° and the boundary line of fashionable
taste." 10

^^Oh!" replied he, ^Hhere is fortunately one tract of
literature which forms a kind of neutral ground, on which
all the literary meet amicably, and run riot in the ex-
cess of their good-humor ; and this is in the reigns of
Elizabeth^ and James. Here you may praise away at 15
random. Here it is ^ cut and come again ' ° ; and the more
obscure the author, and the more quaint and crabbed his
style, the more your admiration will smack of the real
relish of the connoisseur; whose taste, like that of an
epicure, is always for game that has an antiquated flavor. 20

^^But," continued he, "as you seem anxious to know
something of literary society, I will take the opportunity
to introduce you to some coterie, ° where the talents of
the day are assembled. I cannot promise you, however,
that they will all be of the first order. Somehow or 25
other, our great geniuses are not gregarious ; ° they do not
go in flocks, but fly singly in general society. They pre-
fer mingling like common men with the multitude, and
are apt to carry nothing of the author about them but the
reputation. It is only the inferior orders that herd to- 30
gether, acquire strength and importance by their con-
federacies, and bear all the distinctive characteristics of
their species.'^

A LITERARY DINNER

A FEW days after this conversation with Mr. Buck-
thorne, he called upon me, and took me with him to a
regular literary dinner. It was given by a great book-
seller, ° or rather a company of booksellers, whose firm
5 surpassed in length that of Shadrach, Meschech, and
Abednego.°

I was surprised to find between twenty and thirty
guests assembled, most of whom I had never seen before.
Mr. Buckthorne explained this to me, by informing me

I o that this was a business-dinner, or kind of field-day^
which the house gave about twice a year to its authors. It
is true they did occasionally give snug dinners to three
or four literary men at a time ; but then these were gen-
erally select authors, favorites of the public, such as had

15 arrived at their sixth or seventh editions. ^^ There are,"
said he, "certain geographical boundaries in the land of
literature, and you may judge tolerably well of an author's
popularity by the wine his bookseller gives him. An
author crosses the port line about the third edition, and

20 gets into claret; and when he has reached the sixth or
seventh, he may revel in champagne or burgundy." °

"And pray," said I, "how far may these gentlemen
have reached that I see around me? are any of these
claret drinkers?"

25 "Not exactly, not exactly. You find at these great
dinners the common steady run of authors, one or
two edition men; or if any others are invited, they

42

A LITERARY DINNER 43

are aware that it is a kind of republican meeting —
you understand me, — a meeting of the repubHc of
letters; and that they must expect nothing but plain,
substantial fare/'

These hints enabled me to comprehend more fully the 5
arrangement of the table. The two ends were occupied
by two partners of the house ; and the host seemed to have
adopted Addison's idea as to the literary precedence of
his guests. A popular poet had the post of honor; op-
posite to whom was a hot-pressed° traveller in quarto^ 10
with plates. A grave-looking antiquarian, who had pro-
duced several solid works, that were much quoted and
little read, was treated with great respect, and seated next
to a neat, dressy gentleman in black, who had written a
thin, genteel, hot-pressed octavo on political economy, 15
that was getting into fashion. Several three-volumed
duodecimo men,° of fair currency, were placed about the
centre of the table; while the lower end was taken up
with small poets, translators, and authors who had not
as yet risen into much notoriety. 20

The conversation during dinner was by fits and starts;
breaking out here and there in various parts of the table
in small flashes, and ending in smoke. The poet, who had
the confidence of a man on good terms with the world,
and independent of his bookseller, was very gay and 25
brilliant, and said many clever things which set the part-
ner next him in a roar, and delighted all the company.
The other partner, however, maintained his sedateness,
and kept carving on, with the air of a thorough man of
business, intent upon the occupation of the moment. 30
His gravity was explained to me by my friend Buck-
thorne. He informed me that the concerns of the house
were admirably distributed among the partners. "Thus.

44 TALES OF A TRAVELLER

for instance/' said he, ^Hhe grave gentleman is the carving
partner, who attends to the joints; and the other is the
laughing partner, who attends to the jokes/'

The general conversation was chiefly carried on at the
5 upper end of the table, as the authors there seemed to
possess the greatest courage of the tongue. As to the crew
at the lower end, if they did not make much figure in
talking, they did in eating. Never was there a more
determined, inveterate, thoroughly sustained attack on

10 the trencher ° than by this phalanx of masticators. When
the cloth was removed, and the wine began to circulate,
they grew very merry and jocose among themselves.
Their jokes, however, if by chance any of them reached
the upper end of the table, seldom produced much effect.

15 Even the laughing partner did not think it necessary to
honor them with a smile ; which my neighbor Buckthorne
accounted for by informing me that there was a certain
degree of popularity to be obtained before a bookseller
could afford to laugh at an author's jokes.

20 Among this crew of questionable gentlemen thus seated
below the salt,° my eye singled out one in particular. He
was rather shabbily dressed; though he had evidently
made the most of a rusty black coat, and wore his shirt-
frill plaited and puffed out voluminously at the bosom.

25 His face was dusky, but florid, perhaps a little too florid,
particularly about the nose; though the rosy hue gave
the greater lustre to a twinkling black eye. He had a
little the look of a boon companion, with that dash of the
poor devil in it which gives an inexpressible- mellow tone

30 to a man's humor. I had seldom seen a face of richer
promise; but never was promise so ill kept. He said
nothing, ate and drank with the keen appetite of a garret-
eer, ° and scarcely stopped to laugh, even at the good jokes

A LITERARY DINNER 45

from the upper end of the table. I inquired who he was.
Buckthorne looked at him attentively: ^^Gad,'' said he,
'^I have seen that face before, but where I cannot rec-
ollect. He cannot be an author of any note. I suppose
some writer of sermons, or grinder of foreign travels. ^^ 5

After dinner we retired to another room to take tea
and coffee, where we were reinforced by a cloud of in-
ferior guests — authors of small volumes in boards, and
pamphlets stitched in blue paper. These had not as yet
arrived to the importance of a dinner-invitation, but were 10
invited occasionally to pass the evening in a friendly way.
They were very respectful to the partners, and, indeed,
seemed to stand a little in awe of them; but they paid
devoted court to the lady of the house, and were extrava-
gantly fond of the children. Some few, who did not feel 15
confidence enough to make such advances, stood shyly off
in corners, talking to one another ; or turned over the port-
folios of prints which they had not seen above five thou-
sand times, or moused over the music on the forte-piano. °

The poet and the thin octavo gentleman were the per- 20
sons most current and at their ease in the drawing-room ;
being men evidently of circulation in the West End.°
They got on each side of the lady of the house, and paid
her a thousand compliments and civilities, at some of
which I thought she would have expired with delight. 25
Every thing they said and did had the odor of fashionable
life. I looked round in vain for the poor-devil author in
the rusty black coat ; he had disappeared immediately
after leaving the table, having a dread, no doubt, of the
glaring light of a drawing-room. Finding nothing further 30
to interest my attention, I took my departure soon after
coffee had been served, leaving the poet, and the thin,
genteel, hot-pressed octavo gentleman, masters of the field.

THE CLUB OF QUEER FELLOWS

I THINK it was the very next evening that, in coming
out of Covent Garden Theatre with my eccentric friend
Buckthorne, he proposed to give me another peep at
Hfe and character. Finding me wiUing for any research of
5 the kind, he took me through a variety of the narrow
courts and lanes about Covent Garden, ° until we stopped
before a tavern, from which we heard the bursts of merri-
ment of a jovial party. There would be a loud peal of
laughter, then an interval, then another peal, as if a

lo prime wag were telling a story. After a little while there
was a song, and at the close of each stanza a hearty roar,
and a vehement thumping on the table.

^^This is the place, '^ whispered Buckthorne; "it is
the club of queer fellows, a great resort of the small wits,

15 third-rate actors, and newspaper critics of the theatres.
Any one can go in on paying a sixpence at the bar for the
use of the club.''

We entered, therefore, without ceremony, and took
our seats at a lone table, in a dusky corner of the room.

20 The club was assembled round a table, on which stood
beverages of various kinds, according to the "tastes of the
individuals. The members were a set of queer fellows in-
deed; but what was my surprise on recognizing, in the
prime wit of the meeting, the poor-devil author whom I

25 had remarked at the booksellers' dinner for his promising

46

THE CLUB OF QUEER FELLOWS 47

face and his complete taciturnity. Matters, however,
were entirely changed with him. There he was a mere
cipher; here he was lord of the ascendant, the choice
spirit, the dominant genius. He sat at the head of the
table with his hat on, and an eye beaming even more 5
luminously than his nose. He had a quip and a fillip"^
for every one, and a good thing on every occasion. Noth- '
ing could be said or done without eliciting a spark from
him: and I solemnly declare I have heard much worse
wit even from noblemen. His jokes, it must be confessed, 10
were rather wet, but they suited the circle over which he
presided. The company were in that maudlin mood,
when a little wit goes a great way. Every time he opened
his hps there was sure to be a roar ; and even sometimes
before he had time to speak. 15

We were fortunate enough to enter in time for a glee
composed by him expressly for the club, and which he
sung with two boon companions, who would have been
worthy subjects for Hogarth 's° pencil. As they were each
provided with a written copy, I was enabled to procure 20
the reading of it.

Merrily, merrily push round the glass,

And merrily troll the glee,
For he who won't drink till he wink, is an ass,

So, neighbor, I drink to thee. 25

Merrily, merrily fuddle thy nose.

Until it right rosy shall be;
For a jolly red nose, I speak under the rose,

Is a sign of good company.

We waited until the party broke up, and no one but the 30
wit remained. He sat at the table with his legs stretched
under it, and wide apart; his hands in his breeches-

48 TALES OF A TRAVELLER

pockets; his head drooped upon his breast; and gazing
with lack-lustre countenance on an empty tankard. His
gayety was gone, his fire completely quenched.

My companion approached, and startled him from his
5 fit of brown study, introducing himself on the strength
of their having dined together at the booksellers'.

^^By the way,'' said he, ^4t seems to me I have seen
you before; your face is surely that of an old acquaint-
ance, though for the life of me I cannot tell where I have
lo known you."

''Very hkely," replied he, with a smile; ''many of my

old friends have forgotten me. Though, to tell the truth,

my memory in this instance is as bad as your own. If,

however, it will assist your recollection in any way, my

15 name is Thomas Dribble, at your service."

"What! Tom Dribble, who was at old Birchell's
school in Warwickshire?"

"The same," said the other, coolly.
"Why, then, we are old school-mates, though it's no
20 wonder you don't recollect me. I was your junior by
several years ; don't you recollect Uttle Jack Buckthorne ? "
Here there ensued a scene of school-fellow recognition,
and a world of talk about old school times and school
pranks. Mr. Dribble ended by observing, with a heavy
25 sigh, "that times were sadly changed since those days."
"Faith, Mr. Dribble," said I, "you seem quite a differ-
ent man here from what you were at dinner. I had no
idea that you had so much stuff in you. There you were
all silence, but here you absolutely keep the table in a
30 roar."

"Ah ! my dear sir," replied he, with a shake of his head,
and a shrug of the shoulder, "I am a mere glowworm.
I never shine by daylight. Besides, it's a hard thing for a

THE CLUB OF QUEER FELLOWS 49

poor devil of an author to shine at the table of a rich
bookseller. Who do you think would laugh at any
thing I could say, when I had some of the current wits of
the day about me? But here, though a poor devil, I
am among still poorer devils than myself ; men who look 5
up to me as a man of letters, and a helle-esprit,^ and all
my jokes pass as sterling gold from the mint/'

^^You surely do yourself injustice, sir,'' said I; '^I have
certainly heard more good things from you this evening
than from any of those beaux-esprits, by whom you appear 10
to have been so daunted."

"Ah, sir ! but they have luck on their side ; they are in
the fashion — there's nothing like being in fashion. A
man that has once got his character up for a wit is al-
ways sure of a laugh, say what he may. He may utter as 15
much nonsense as he pleases, and all will pass current.
No one stops to question the coin of a rich man; but a
poor devil cannot pass off either a joke or a guinea with-
out its being examined on both sides. Wit and coin are
always doubted with a threadbare coat. 20

"For my part," continued he, giving his hat a twitch a
little more on one side, — "for my part, I hate your
fine dinners; there's nothing, sir, like the freedom of a
chop-house. I'd rather, any time, have my steak and
tankard° among my own set, than drink claret and eat ven- 25
ison with your cursed civil, elegant company, who never
laugh at a good joke from a poor devil for fear of its being
vulgar. A good joke grows in a wet soil ; it flourishes in

low places, but withers on your d d high, dry grounds.

I once kept high company, sir, until I nearly ruined my- 30
self; I grew so dull, and vapid, and genteel. Noth-
ing saved me but being arrested by my landlady, and
thrown into prison, where a course of catch-clubs, eight-

50 TALES OF A TRAVELLER

penny ale, and poor-devil company manured my mind
and brought it back to itself again/^

As it was now growing late, we parted for the even-
ing, though I felt anxious to know more of this practical
5 philosopher. I was glad, therefore, when Buckthorne
proposed to have another meeting, to talk over old school
times, and inquired his school-mate's address. The lat-
ter seemed at first a little shy of naming his lodgings;
but suddenly, assuming an air of hardihood — ^^Green-

lo arbor Court, ° sir,'' exclaimed he — ^' Number in

Green-arbor Court. You must know the place. Classic
ground, sir, classic ground ! It was there Goldsmith
wrote his 'Vicar of Wakefield,' — I always like to live
in literary haunts."

15 I was amused with this whimsical apology for shabby
quarters. On our way homeward, Buckthorne assured
me that this Dribble had been the prime wit and great
wag of the school in their boyish days, and one of those
unlucky urchins denominated bright geniuses. As he

20 perceived me curious respecting his old school-mate, he
promised to take me with him in his proposed visit to
Green-arbor Court.

A few mornings afterward he called upon me, and we
set forth on our expedition. He led me through a variety

25 of singular alleys, and courts, and blind passages ; for he
appeared to be perfectly versed in all the intricate geog-
raphy of the metropolis. At length we came out upon
Fleet Market, ° and traversing it, turned up a narrow street
to the bottom of a long steep flight of stone- steps, called

30 Breakneck Stairs. These, he told me, led up to Green-
arbor Court, and that down them poor Goldsmith might
many a time have risked his neck. When we entered the
court, I could not but smile to think in what out-of-the-

THE CLUB OF QUEER FELLOWS 61

way corners genius produces her bantlings ! And the
muses, ° those capricious dames, who, forsooth, so often
refuse to visit palaces, and deny a single smile to votaries
in splendid studies, and gilded drawing-rooms, — what
holes and burrows will they frequent to lavish their 5
favors on some ragged disciple !

This Green-arbor Court I found to be a small square,
surrounded by tall and miserable houses, the very intestines
of which seemed turned inside out, to judge from the old
garments and frippery fluttering from every window. It 10
appeared to be a region of washerwomen, and lines were
stretched about the little square, on which clothes were
dangling to dry.

Just as we entered the square, a scuffle took place
between two viragoes ° about a disputed right to a wash- 15
tub, and immediately the whole community was in a hub-
bub. Heads in mob caps popped out of every window, and
such a clamor of tongues ensued that I was fain to stop
my ears. Every Amazon ° took part with one or other
of the disputants, and brandished her arms, dripping with 20
soap-suds, and fired away from her window as from the
embrazure of a fortress ; while the swarms of children
nestled and cradled in every procreant chamber of this
hive, waking with the noise, set up their shrill pipes to
swell the general concert. 25

Poor Goldsmith ! w^hat a time he must have had of it,
with his quiet disposition and nervous habits, penned up
in this den of noise and vulgarity! How strange that,
while every sight and sound was sufficient to embitter the
heart, and fill it with misanthropy, his pen should be 30
dropping the honey of Hybla ° ! Yet it is more than
probable that he drew many of his inimitable pictures of
low life from the scenes which surrounded him in this

52 TALES OF A TRAVELLER

abode. The circumstance of Mrs. Tibbs being obliged to
wash her husband^s two shirts in a neighbor's house, who
refused to lend her wash-tub, may have been no sport of
fancy, but a fact passing under his own eye. His land-
5 lady may have sat for the picture, and Beau Tibbs'°
scanty wardrobe have been a facsimile of his own.

It was with some difficulty that we found our way to
Dribble's lodgings. They were up two pair of stairs, in
a room that looked upon the court ; and when we entered,

lo he was seated on the edge of his bed, writing at a broken
table. He received us, however, with a free, open, poor-
devil air, that was irresistible. It is true he did at first
appear slightly confused; buttoned up his waistcoat a
little higher, and tucked in a stray frill of linen. But he

15 recollected himself in an instant; gave a half swagger,
half leer, as he stepped forth to receive us ; drew a three-
legged stool for Mr. Buckthorne ; pointed me to a lumber-
ing old damask chair, that looked like a dethroned mon-
arch in exile ; and bade us welcome to his garret.

20 We soon got engaged in conversation. Buckthorne
and he had much to say about early school scenes; and
as nothing opens a man's heart more than recollections
of the kind, we soon drew from him a brief outline of his
literary career.

THE POOR-DEVIL AUTHOR

I BEGAN life unluckily by being the wag and bright
fellow at school; and I had the further misfortune of
becoming the great genius of my native village. My
father was a country attorney, and intended I should suc-
ceed him in business ; but I had too much genius to study, 5
and he was too fond of my genius to force it into the
traces ; so I fell into bad company, and took to bad habits.
Do not mistake me. I mean that I fell into the company
of village literati, ° and village blues, and took to writing
village poetry. 10

It was quite the fashion in the village to be literary.
There was a little knot of choice spirits of us, who as-
sembled frequently together, formed ourselves into a
Literary, Scientific^ and Philosophical Society, and fancied
ourselves the most learned Philos° in existence. Every 15
one had a great character assigned him, suggested by some
casual habit or affectation. One heavy fellow drank an
enormous quantity of tea, rolled in his arm-chair, talked
sententiously, pronounced dogmatically, and was con-
sidered a second Dr. Johnson, another, who happened 20
to be a curate, uttered coarse jokes, wrote doggerel
rhymes, and was the Swift of our association. Thus we
had also our Popes, and Goldsmiths, and Addisons; and
a blue-stocking lady, whose drawing-room we frequented,
who corresponded about nothing with all the world, and 25

53

54 TALES OF A TRAVELLER

wrote letters with the stiffness and formahty of a printed
book, was cried up as another Mrs. Montagu. I was, by
common consent, the juvenile prodigy, the poetical
youth, the great genius, the pride and hope of the village,
5 through whom it was to become one day as celebrated as
Stratf ord-on-Avon. °

My father died, and left me his blessing and his business.
His blessing brought no money into my pocket; and as
to his business, it soon deserted me; for I was busy

I o writing poetry, and could not attend to law, and my
clients, though they had great respect for my talents,
had no faith in a poetical attorney.

I lost my business, therefore, spent my money, and
finished my poem. It was '^ The Pleasures of Melancholy, ''

15 and was cried up to the skies by the whole circle. ^^The
Pleasures of Imagination,^' ''The Pleasures of Hope,'' and
''The Pleasures of Memory," though each had placed
its author in the first ranks of poets, were blank prose in
comparison. Our Mrs. Montagu would cry over it from

20 beginning to end. It was pronounced by ail the members
of the Literary, Scientific, and Philosophical Society the
greatest poem of the age, and all anticipated the noise it
would make in the great world. There was not a doubt
but the London booksellers would be mad after it; and

25 the only fear of my friends was, that I would make a
sacrifice by selling it too cheap. Every time they talked
the matter over, they increased the price. They reckoned
up the great sums given for the poems of certain popular
writers, and determined that mine was worth more than

30 all put together, and ought to be paid for accordingly.
For my part, I was modest in my expectations, and deter-
mined that I would be satisfied with a thousand guineas.
So I put my poem in my pocket, and set off for London.

THE POOR-DEVIL AUTHOR 65

My journey was joyous. My heart was light as my
purse, and my head full of anticipations of fame and
fortune. With what swelling pride did I cast my eyes
upon old London from the heights of Highgate ° ! I was
like a general, looking down upon a place he expects to 5
conquer. The great metropohs lay stretched before me,
buried under a home-made cloud of murky smoke, that
wrapped it from the brightness of a sunny day, and formed
for it a kind of artificial bad weather. At the outskirts of
the city, away to the west, the smoke gradually decreased 10
until all was clear and sunny, and the view stretched
uninterrupted to the blue line of the Kentish hills.

My eye turned fondly to where the mighty cupola
of St. PauFs^ swelled dimly through this misty chaos,
and I pictured to myself the solemn realm of learning that 15
lies about its base. How soon should ^'The Pleasures of
Melancholy" throw this world of booksellers and printers
into a bustle of business and delight ! How soon should
I hear my name repeated by printers' devils throughout
Paternoster Row,° and Angel Court, and Ave-Maria Lane, 20
until Amen Corner° should echo back the sound !

Arrived in town, I repaired at once to the most fash-
ionable publisher. Every new author patronizes him of
course. In fact, it had been determined in the village
circle that he should be the fortunate man. I cannot tell 25
you how vaingloriously I walked the streets. My head
was in the clouds. I felt the airs of heaven playing about
it, and fancied it already encircled by a halo° of literary
glory. As I passed by the windows of book-shops, I
anticipated the time when my work would be shining 30
among the hot-pressed wonders of the day; and my
face, scratched on copper, or cut on wood, figuring in
fellowship with those of Scott, and Byron, and Moore. °

66 TALES OF A TRAVELLER

When I applied at the pubHsher^s house, there was
something in the loftiness of my air, and the dinginess of
my dress, that struck the clerks with reverence. They
doubtless took me for some person of consequence ; prob-
5 ably a digger of Greek roots, ° or a penetrater of pyramids.
A proud man in a dirty shirt is always an imposing
character in the world of letters; one must feel intel-
lectually secure before he can venture to dress shabbily;
none but a great genius, or a great scholar, dares to be

lo dirty ; so I was ushered at once to the sanctum sanctorum'^
of this high-priest of Minerva. °

The publishing of books is a very different affair nowa-
days from what it was in the time of Bernard Lintot.^
I found the publisher a fashionably-dressed man, in an

15 elegant drawing-room, furnished with sofas, and portraits
of celebrated authors, and cases of splendidly bound books.
He was writing letters at an elegant table. This was
transacting business in style. The place seemed suited
to the magnificent publications that issued from it. I

20 rejoiced at the choice I had made of a publisher, for I
always liked to encourage men of taste and spirit.

I stepped up to the table with the lofty poetical port
I had been accustomed to maintain in our village circle;
though I threw in it something of a patronizing air, such

25 as one feels when about to make a man^s fortune. The
publisher paused with his pen in hand, and seemed wait-
ing in mute suspense to know what was to be announced
by so singular an apparition.

I put him at his ease in a moment, for I felt that

30 1 had but to come, see, and conquer. I made known
my name, and the name of my poem; produced my
precious roll of blotted manuscript; laid it on the
table with an emphasis; and told him at once, to save

THE POOR-DEVIL AUTHOR 67

time and come directly to the point, the price was one ,
thousand guineas.

I had given him no time to speak, nor did he seem so
inchned. He continued looking at me for a moment with
an air of whimsical perplexity ; scanned me from head to 5
foot; looked down at the manuscript, then up again at
me, then pointed to a chair ; and whistling softly to him-
self, went on writing his letter.

I sat for some time waiting his reply, supposing he was
making up his mind; but he only paused occasionally to 10
take a fresh dip of ink, to stroke his chin, or the tip of his
nose, and then resumed his writing. It was evident his
mind was intently occupied upon some other subject;
but I had no idea that any other subject could be attended
to, and my poem lie unnoticed on the table. I had sup- 15
posed that every thing would make way for /^ The Pleasures
of Melancholy.''

My gorge at length rose within me. I took up my
manuscript, thrust it into my pocket, and walked out of
the room, making some noise as I went out to let my 20
departure be heard. The publisher, however, was too
much buried in minor concerns to notice it. I was suffered
to walk down stairs without being called back. I sallied
forth into the street, but no clerk was sent after me ; nor
did the pubhsher call after me from the drawing-room 25
window. I have been told since that he considered me
either a madman or a fool. I leave you to judge how
much he was in the wrong in his opinion. °

When I turned the corner, my crest fell.° I cooled
down in my pride and my expectations, and reduced my 30
terms with the next bookseller to whom I applied. I had
no better success ; nor with a third, nor with a fourth. I
then desired the booksellers to make an offer themselves ;

68 TALES OF A TRAVELLER

but the deuce an offer would they make. They told me
poetry was a mere drug; everybody wrote poetry; the
market was overstocked with it. And then they said the
title of my poem was not taking; that pleasures of all
5 kinds were worn threadbare ; nothing but horrors did
nowadays, and even those were almost worn out. Tales
of pirates, robbers, and bloody Turks might answer toler-
ably well ; but then they must come from some established,
well-known name, or the public would not look at them.

lo At last I offered to leave my poem with a bookseller
to read it, and judge for himself. ''Well, really, my dear

Mr. a — a — I forget your name,^' said he, casting

his eye at my rusty coat and shabby gaiters, ''really, sir,
we are so pressed with business just now, and have so

15 many manuscripts on hand to read, that we have not time
to look at any new productions; but if you can call
again in a week or two, or say the middle of next month,
we may be able to look over your writings, and give you an
answer. Don^t forget, the month after next ; good morn-

£o ing, sir ; happy to see you any time you are passing this
way.^^ So saying, he bowed me out in the civilest way
imaginable. In short, sir, instead of an eager competition
to secure my poem, I could not even get it read ! In the
meantime I was harassed by letters from my friends, want-

25 ing to know when the work was to appear; who was to
be my publisher; and above all things, warning me not
to let it go too cheap.

There was but one alternative left. I determined to
publish the poem myself; and to have my triumph over

30 the booksellers when it should become the fashion of the
day. I accordingly published "The Pleasures of Mel-
ancholy,'^— and ruined myself. Excepting the copies
sent to the reviews, and to my friends in the country,

THE POOR-DEVIL AUTHOR 59

not one, I believe, ever left the bookseller ^s warehouse.
The printer ^s bill drained my purse ; and the only notice
that was taken of my work was contained in the adver-
tisements paid for by myself.

I could have borne all this, and have attributed it, as 5
usual, to the mismanagement of the publisher, or the
want of taste in the public; and could have made the
usual appeal to posterity; but my village friends would
not let me rest in quiet. They were picturing me to
themselves feasting with the great, communing with the 10
literary, and in the high career of fortune and renown.
Every little while, some one would call on me with a
letter of introduction from the village circle, recommend-
ing him to my attentions, and requesting that I would
make him known in society ; with a hint, that an introduc- 15
tion to a celebrated literary nobleman would be extremely
agreeable. I determined, therefore, to change my lodg-
ings, drop my correspondence, and disappear altogether
from the view of my village admirers. Besides, I was
anxious to make one more poetic attempt. I was by no 20
means disheartened by the failure of my first. My poem
was evidently too didactic. The public was wise enough.
It no longer read for instruction. ^^They want horrors,
do they?'' said I : ^'I' faith ! then they shall have enough
of them.'' So I looked out for some quiet, retired place, 25
where I might be out of the reach of my friends, and have
leisure to cook up some delectable dish of poetical ^^hell-
broth."

I had some difficulty in finding a place to my mind,
when chance threw me in the way of Canonbury Castle. 30
It is an ancient brick tower, hard by ^^ merry Islington";
the remains of a hunting-seat of Queen Elizabeth, where
she took the pleasure of the country when the neighbor-

60 TALES OF A TRAVELLER

hood was all woodland. What gave it particular interest
in my eyes was the circumstance that it had been the
residence of a poet.

It was here Goldsmith resided when he wrote his
5 ^^ Deserted Village.'^ I was shown the very apartment. It
was a relic of the original style of the castle, with panelled
wainscots and Gothic^ windows. I was pleased with its
air of antiquity, and with its having been the residence of
poor Goldy.°

lo ^'Goldsmith was a pretty poet,'' said I to myself, '^a
very pretty poet, though rather of the old school. He
did not think and feel so strongly as is the fashion nowa-
days; but had he lived in these times of hot hearts and
hot heads, he would no doubt have written quite differ-

isently."

In a few days I was quietly established in my new
quarters; my books all arranged; my writing-desk
placed by a window looking out into the fields ; and I felt
as snug as Robinson Crusoe, when he had finished his

20 bower. For several days I enjoyed all the novelty of
the change and charms which grace new lodgings, before
one has found out their defects. I rambled about the
fields where I fancied Goldsmith had rambled. I ex-
plored merry Islington ; ate my solitary dinner at the Black

25 Bull, which, according to tradition, was a country-seat of
Sir Walter Raleigh ; and would sit and sip my wine, and
muse on old times, in a quaint old room, where many a
council had been held.

All this did very well for a few days. I was stimulated

30 by novelty; inspired by the associations awakened in
my mind by these curious haunts; and began to think
I felt the spirit of composition stirring within me. But
Sunday came, and with it the whole city world, swarm-

THE POOR-DEVIL AUTHOR 61

ing about Canonbury Castle. I could not open my window
but I was stunned with shouts and noises from the cricket-
ground° ; the late quiet road beneath my window was alive
with the tread of feet and clack of tongues ; and, to com-
plete my misery, I found that my quiet retreat was ab- 5
solutely a ^^ show-house,'^ the tower and its contents being
shown to strangers at sixpence a head.

There was a perpetual tramping up stairs of citizens
and their families, to look about the country from the top
of the tower, and to take a peep at the city through the 10
telescope, to try if they could discern their own chimneys. °
And then, in the midst of a vein of thought, or a moment
of inspiration, I was interrupted, and all my ideas put to
flight, by my intolerable landlady's tapping at the door,
and asking me if I would ^'just please to let a lady and 15
gentleman come in, to take a look at Mr. Goldsmith's
room." If you know any thing of what an author's study
is, and what an author is himself, you must know that
there was no standing this. I put positive interdict on
my room's being exhibited ; but then it was shown when 20
I was absent, and my papers put in confusion; and, on
returning home one day, I absolutely found a cursed
tradesman and his daughters gaping over my manuscripts,
and my landlady in a panic at my appearance. I tried to
make out a little longer, by taking the key in my pocket; 25
but it would not do. I overheard mine hostess one day
telling some of her customers on the stairs, that the room
was occupied by an author, who was always in a tan-
trum if interrupted; and I immediately perceived, by a
slight noise at the door, that they were peeping at me 30
through the key-hole. By the head of Apollo,° but this
was quite too much ! With all my eagerness for fame,
and my ambition of the stare of the million, I had no idea

62 TALES OF A TRAVELLER

of being exhibited by retail, at sixpence a head, and that
through a key-hole. So I bid adieu to Canonbury Castle,
merry Islington, and the haunts of poor Goldsmith, with-
out having advanced a single line in my labors.
5 My next quarters were at a small, whitewashed cot-
tage, which stands not far from Hampstead, just on the
brow of a hill; looking over Chalk Farm and Camden
Town, remarkable for the rival houses of Mother Red
Cap° and Mother Black Cap; and so across Crackskull

lo Common to the distant city.

The cottage was in nowise remarkable in itself; but I
regarded it with reverence, for it had been the asylum of a
persecuted author. Hither poor Steele ° had retreated,
and laid perdu, ° when persecuted by creditors and bailiffs

IS — those immemorial plagues of authors and free-spirited
gentlemen ; and' here he had written many numbers of the
^^ Spectator. ^^ ° It was hence, too, that he had dispatched
those little notes to his lady, so full of affection and whim-
sicality, in which the fond husband, the careless gentle-

20 man, and the shifting spendthrift were so oddly blended.
I thought, as I first eyed the window of his apartment,
that I could sit within it and write volumes.

No such thing ! It was haymaking season, and, as ill
luck would have it, immediately opposite the cottage was

25 a little ale-house, with the sign of the Load of Hay.
Whether it was there in Steele ^s time, I cannot say; but
it set all attempts at conception or inspiration at defiance.
It was the resort of all the Irish haymakers who mow the
broad fields in the neighborhood; and of drovers and

30 teamsters who travel that road. Here they would gather
in the endless summer twilight, or by the light of the har-
vest moon, and sit around a table at the door ; and tipple,
and laugh, and quarrel, and fight, and sing drowsy songs,

THE POOR-DEVIL AUTHOR 63

and dawdle away the hours, until the deep solemn notes
of St. PauFs clock would warn the varlets home.

In the daytime I was less able to write. It was broad
summer. The haymakers were at work in the fields, and
the perfume of the new-mown hay brought w4th it the rec- s
ollection of my native fields. So instead of remaining in
my room to write, I went wandering about Primrose Hill,
and Hampstead Heights, and Shepherd ^s Fields, and all
those Arcadian® scenes so celebrated by London bards.
I cannot tell you how many delicious hours I have passed, lo
lying on the cocks of the new-mown hay, on the pleasant
slopes of some of those hills, inhaling the fragrance of the
fields, while the summer-fly buzzed about me, or the grass-
hopper leaped into my bosom; and how I have gazed
with half-shut eye upon the smoky mass of London, and 15
listened to the distant sound of its population, and pitied
the poor sons of earth, toiling in its bowels, like gnomes
in the '^dark gold-mines.'^

People may say what they please about cockney
pastorals, ° but after all there is a vast deal of rural beauty 20
about the western vicinity of London; and any one that
has looked down upon the valley of the West End with its
soft bosom of green pasturage lying open to the south and
dotted with cattle, the steeple of Hampstead rising among
rich groves on the brow of the hill, and the learned height 25
of Harrow ° in the distance, will confess that never has he
seen a more absolutely rural landscape in the vicinity of a
great metropolis.

Still, however, I found myself not a whit the better off
for my frequent change of lodgings; and I began to dis- s-
cover that, in literature as in trade, the old proverb holds
good — '^A rolHng stone gathers no moss.''

The tranquil beauty of the country played the very

64 TALES OF A TRAVELLER

vengeance with me. I could not mount my fancy into
the termagant^ vein. I could not conceive, amidst the
smiling landscape, a scene of blood and murder ; and the
smug citizens in breeches and gaiters put all ideas of heroes
5 and bandits out of my brain. I could think of nothing
but dulcet subjects: ^^The Pleasures of Spring'^; ^^The
Pleasures of Solitude '' ; '' The Pleasures of Tranquillity^' ;
^^The Pleasures of Sentimenf ; nothing but pleasures;
and I had the painful experience of ^'The Pleasures of

lo Melancholy '^ too strongly in my recollection to be be-
guiled by them.

Chance at length befriended me. I had frequently,
in my ramblings, loitered about Hampstead Hill, which
is a kind of Parnassus^ of the metropolis. At such times

15 I occasionally took my dinner at Jack Straw's Castle.
It is a country inn so named; the very spot where that
notorious rebel and his followers held their council of war.
It is a favorite resort of citizens when rurally inclined,
as it commands fine fresh air and a good view of the city.

20 I sat one day in the public room of this inn, ruminating
over a beefsteak and a pint of porter, when my imagination
kindled up with ancient and heroic images. I had long
wanted a theme and a hero ; both suddenly broke upon
my mind. I determined to write a poem on the history of

25 Jack Straw. ° I was so full of the subject that I was
fearful of being anticipated. I wondered that none of the
poets of the day in their search after ruffian heroes had
never thought of Jack Straw. I went to work pellmell,
blotted several sheets of paper with choice floating

30 thoughts, and battles, and descriptions, to be ready at a
moment's warning. In a few days' time I sketched out
the skeleton of my poem, and nothing was wanting but
to give it flesh and blood. I used to take my manuscript

THE POOR-DEVIL AUTHOR 65

and stroll about Caen Wood, and read aloud ; and would
dine at the Castle, by way of keeping up the vein of
thought.

I was there one day, at rather a late hour, in the public
room. There was no other company but one man, who 5
sat enjoying his pint of porter at the window, and notic-
ing the passers-by. He was dressed in a green shooting
coat. His countenance was strongly marked : he had a
hooked nose ; a romantic eye, excepting that it had some-
thing of a squint ; and altogether, as I thought, a poetical lo
style of head. I was quite taken with the man, for you
must know I am a little of a physiognomist; I set him
down at once for either a poet or a philosopher.

As I like to make new acquaintances, considering every
man a volume of human nature, ° I soon fell into conver- 15
sation with the stranger, who, I was pleased to find, was
by no means difficult of access. After I had dined, I
joined him at the window, and we became so sociable that
I proposed a bottle of wine together, to which he most
cheerfully assented. 20

I was too full of my poem to keep long quiet on the
subject, and began to talk about the origin of the tavern,
and the history of Jack Straw. I found my new acquaint-
ance to be perfectly at home on the topic, and to jump°
exactly with my humor in every respect. I became 25
elevated by the wine and the conversation. In the fulness
of an author ^s feelings, I told him of my projected poem,
and repeated some passages, and he was in raptures. He
was evidently of a strong poetical turn.

^^Sir,^' said he, filling my glass at the same time, "our 30
poets don't look at home. I don't see why we need go out
of old England for robbers and rebels to write about. I
like your Jack Straw, sir — he's a home-made hero. \

66 TALES OF A TRAVELLER

like him, sir — I like him exceedingly. He^s English to
the backbone — damme — Give me honest old England
after all! Them's my sentiments, sir/'

^'I honor your sentiment,'' cried I, zealously; ^4t is
5 exactly my own. An English ruffian is as good a ruffian
for poetry as any in Italy, or Germany, or the Archi-
pelago°; but it is hard to make our poets think so."

^^More shame for them!" replied the man in green.
'^What a plague would they have? What have we to do
lo with their Archipelagos of Italy and Germany ? Haven't
we heaths and commons and highways on our own little
island — ay, and stout fellows to pad the hoof ° over
them too ? Stick to home, I say, — them's my senti-
ments. — Come, sir, my service to you — I agree with
15 you perfectly."

^^ Poets, in old times, had right notions on this subject,"

continued I; ^^ witness the fine old ballads about Robin

Hood,° Allan a'Dale, and other stanch blades of yore."

^^ Right, sir, right," interrupted he; ''Robin Hood!

20 he was the lad to cry Stand ! to a man, and never to flinch."

"Ah, sir," said I; ''they had famous bands of robbers

in the good old times; those were glorious poetical days.

The merry crew of Sherwood Forest, who led such a

roving picturesque life, 'under' the greenwood tree.' I

25 have often wished to visit their haunts, and tread the

scenes of the exploits of Friar Tuck, and Clymm of the

Clough, and Sir William of Cloudeslie."

"Nay, sir," said the gentleman in green, "we have had
several very pretty gangs since that day. Those gallant
30 dogs that kept about the great heaths in the neighborhood
of London, about Bagshot, and Hounslow, and Black-
heath, for instance. Come, sir, my service to you. You
don't drink."

THE POOR-DEVIL AUTHOR 67

"I suppose/' cried I, emptying my glass, ^^I suppose
you have heard of the famous Turpin, who was born in
this very village of Hampstead, and who used to lurk
with his gang in Epping Forest ° about a hundred years
since/' 5

"Have I?" cried he; "to be sure I have! A hearty
old blade that. Sound as pitch. Old Turpentine ! as
we used to call him. A famous fine fellow, sir.''

"Well, sir," continued I, "I have visited Waltham
Abbey ° and Chingford Church^ merely from the stories lo
I heard when a boy of his exploits there, and I have
searched Epping Forest for the cavern where he used to
conceal himself. You must know," added I, "that I am
a sort of amateur of highwaymen. They were dashing,
daring fellows; the best apologies that we had for the 15
knights-errant of yore. Ah, sir ! the country has been
sinking gradually into tameness and commonplace.
We are losing the old English spirit. The bold Knights
of the Post have all dwindled down into lurking foot-
pads, and sneaking pickpockets ; there's no such thing as 20
a dashing, gentleman-like robbery committed nowadays
on the king's highway. A man may roll from one end
of England to the other in a drowsy coach, or jingling
post-chaise, without any other adventure than that of
being occasionally overturned, sleeping in damp sheets, 25
or having an ill-cooked dinner. We hear no more of public
coaches being stopped and robbed by a well-mounted
gang of resolute fellows, with pistols in their hands and
crapes over their faces. What a pretty poetical incident
was it, for example, in domestic life, for a family carriage, 3c
on its way to a country-seat, to be attacked about dark;
the old gentleman eased of his purse and watch, the ladies
of their necklaces and ear-rings, by a politely-spoken high-

68 TALES OF A TRAVELLER

wayman on a blood-mare, who afterwards leaped the
hedge and galloped across the country, to the admiration
of Miss Caroline, the daughter, who would write a long
and romantic account of the adventure to her friend,
5 Miss Juliana, in town. Ah, sir ! we meet with nothing of
such incidents nowadays/'

^'That, sir,'' said my companion, taking advantage of
a pause, when I stopped to recover breath, and to take a
glass of wine which he had just poured out, ^Hhat, sir,

10 craving your pardon, is not owing to any want of old
English pluck. It is the effect of this cursed system of
banking. People do not travel with bags of gold as they
did formerly. They have post-notes and drafts on bankers.
To rob a coach is like catching a crow, where you have

15 nothing but carrion flesh and feathers for your pains.

But a coach in old times, sir, was as rich as a Spanish

galleon. ° It turned out the yellow boys° bravely. And

a private carriage was a cool hundred or two at least."

I cannot express how much I was delighted with the

20 saUies of my new acquaintance. He told me that he often
frequented the Castle, and would be glad to know more of
me; and I proposed myself many a pleasant afternoon
with him, when I should read him my poem as it proceeded,
and benefit by his remarks ; for it was evident he had the

25 true poetical feeling.

''Come, sir/' said he, pushing the bottle; "damme, I
hke you ! you're a man after my own heart. I'm cursed
slow in making new acquaintances. One must be on the
reserve, you know. But when I meet with a man of your

30 kidney, damme, my heart jumps at once to him. Them's
my sentiments, sir. Come, sir, here's Jack Straw's
health ! I presume one can drink it nowadays without
treason."

THE POOR-DEVIL AUTHOR 69

"With all my heart/^ said I, gayly, '^and Dick Turpin's
into the bargain !''

"Ah, sir/^ said the man in green, "those are the kind
of men for poetry. The Newgate Calendar, ° sir! the
Newgate Calendar is your only reading ! There's the 5
place to look for bold deeds and dashing fellows/'

We were so much pleased with each other that we sat
until a late hour. I insisted on paying the bill, for both my
purse and my heart were full, and I agreed that he should
pay the score at our next meeting. As the coaches had 10
all gone that run between Hampstead and London, we
had to return on foot. He was so delighted with the idea
of my poem that he could talk of nothing else. He made
me repeat such passages as I could remember ; and though
I did it in a very mangled manner, having a wretched 15
memory, yet he was in raptures.

Every now and then he would break out with some
scrap which he would misquote most terribly, would
rub his hands and exclaim: "By Jupiter, that's fine,
that's noble ! Damme, sir, if I can conceive how you hit 20
upon such ideas ! "

I must confess I did not always relish his misquotations,
which sometimes made absolute nonsense of the passages ;
but what author stands upon trifles when he is praised ?

Never had I spent a more delightful evening. I did 25
not perceive how the time flew. I could not bear to sepa-
rate, but continued walking on, arm in arm, with him, past
my lodgings, through Camden Town, and across Crack-
skull Common, talking the whole way about my poem.

When we were half-way across the common, he inter- 30
rupted me in the midst of a quotation, by telling me that
this had been a famous place for footpads, and was still
occasionally infested by them; and that a man had

70 TALES OF A TRAVELLER

recently been shot there in attempting to defend himself. —
^'The more fool he!" cried I; ^'a man is an idiot to risk
life, or even limb, to save a paltry purse of money. It's
quite a different case from that of a duel, where one's
5 honor is concerned. For my part,'' added I, "I should
never think of making resistance against one of those
desperadoes."

^^Say you so?" cried my friend in green, turning sud-
denly upon me, and putting a pistol to my breast ; " why,

lo then, have at you, my lad ! — come — disburse ! empty !
unsack ! "

In a word, I found that the muse had played me another
of her tricks, ° and had betrayed me into the hands of a
footpad. There was no time to parley; he made me

15 turn my pockets inside out; and hearing the sound of
distant footsteps, he made one fell swoop upon purse,
watch, and all; gave me a thwack on my unlucky pate
that laid me sprawling on the ground, and scampered away
with his booty.

20 I saw no more of my friend in green until a year or two
afterwards; when I caught sight of his poetical counte-
nance among a crew of scapegraces heavily ironed, who were
on the way for transportation. He recognized me at once,
tipped me an impudent w^nk, and asked me how I came

25 on with the history of Jack Straw's Castle.

The catastrophe at Crackskull Common put an end to
my summer's campaign. I was cured of my poetical
enthusiasm for rebels, robbers, and highwaymen. I w^as
put out of conceit of my subject, and, what was worse,

30 I was lightened of my purse, in which was almost every
farthing I had in the world. So I abandoned Sir Richard
Steele's cottage in despair, and crept into less celebrated,
though no less poetical and airy lodgings in a garret in town.

THE POOR-DEVIL AUTHOR 71

I now determined to cultivate the society of the Hterary,
and to enroll myself in the fraternity of authorship. It
is by the constant collision of mind, thought I, that authors
strike out the sparks of genius, and kindle up with glorious
conceptions. Poetry is evidently a contagious complaint. 5
I will keep company with poets; who knows but I may
catch it as others have done?

I found no difficulty in making a circle of literary ac-
quaintances, not having the sin of success lying at my
door : indeed the failure of my poem was a kind of rec- 10
ommendation to their favor. It is true my new friends
were not of the most brilliant names in literature; but
then, if you would take their words for it, they were like
the prophets of old, men of whom the world was not
worthy; and who were to live in future ages, when the 15
ephemeral favorites of the day should be forgotten.

I soon discovered, however, that the more I mingled
in literary society, the less I felt capable of writing ; that
poetry was not so catching as I imagined; and that in
familiar life there was often nothing less poetical than a 20
poet. Besides, I wanted the esprit du corps° to turn these
literary fellowships to any account. I could not bring
myself to enlist in any particular sect. I saw something
to like in them all, but found that would never do, for that
the tacit condition on which a man enters into one of these 25
sects is, that he abuses all the rest.

I perceived that there were little knots of authors
who lived with, and for, and by one another. They con-
sidered themselves the salt of the earth. They fostered
and kept up a conventional vein of thinking and talking, 30
and joking on all subjects; and they cried each other up
to the skies. Each sect had its particular creed; and set
up certain authors as divinities, and fell down and wor-

72 TALES OF A TRAVELLER

shipped them; and considered every one who did not
worship them, or who worshipped any other, as a heretic
and an infidel.

In quoting the writers of the day, I generally found
5 them extolling names of which I had scarcely heard, and
talking slightingly of others who were the favorites of the
public. If I mentioned any recent work from the pen of
a first-rate author, they had not read it; they had not
time to read all that was spawned from the press; he

TO wrote too much to write well ; — and then they would
break out into raptures about some Mr. Timson, or Thom-
son, or Jackson, whose works were neglected at the pres-
ent day, but who was to be the wonder and delight of
posterity! Alas! what heavy debts is this neglectful

15 world daily accumulating on the shoulders of poor pos-
terity !

But, above all, it was edifying to hear with what con-
tempt they would talk of the great. Ye gods ! how
immeasurably the great are despised by the small fry of

20 literature ! It is true, an exception was now and then
made of some nobleman, with whom, perhaps, they had
casually shaken hands at an election, or hob or nobbed
at a public dinner, and was pronounced a ^^ devilish good
fellow, '' and ^^ no humbug " ; but, in general, it was enough

25 for a man to have a title, to be the object of their sovereign
disdain ; you have no idea how poetically and philosophi-
cally they would talk of nobility.

For my part, this affected me but little; for though I
had no bitterness against the great, and did not think

30 the worse of a man for having innocently been born to a
title, yet I did not feel myself at present called upon to
resent the indignities poured upon them by the little.
But the hostility to the great writers of the day went sore

THE POOR-DEVIL AUTHOR 73

against the grain with me. I could not enter into such
feuds, nor participate in such animosities. I had not
become author sufficiently to hate other authors. I could
still find pleasure in the novelties of the press, and could
find it in my heart to praise a contemporary, even though 5
he were successful. Indeed I was miscellaneous in my
taste, and could not confine it to any age or growth of
writers. I could turn with delight from the glowing
pages of Byron to the cool and polished raillery of Pope ;
and after wandering among the sacred groves of ^^ Para- 10
dise Lost,'' I could give myself up to voluptuous abandon-
ment in the enchanted bowers of ^^Lalla Rookh.''

"I would have my authors,'' said I, ^'as various as my
wines, and, in relishing the strong and the racy, would
never decry the sparkling and exhilarating. Port and 15-
sherry are excellent stand-bys, and so is madeira; but
claret and burgundy may be drunk now and then without
disparagement to one's palate, and champagne is a bever-
age by no means to be despised."

Such was the tirade I uttered one day when a little 20
flushed with ale at a literary club. I uttered it, too, with
something of a flourish, for I thought my simile a clever
one. Unluckily, my auditors were men who drank beer
and hated Pope; so my figure about wines went for
nothing, and my critical toleration was looked upon as 25
downright heterodoxy. In a word, I soon became like
a freethinker in religion, an outlaw from every sect, and
fair game for all. Such are the melancholy consequences
of not hating in literature.

I see you are growing weary, so I will be brief with the 30
residue of my literary career. I will not detain you with
a detail of my various attempts to get astride of Pegasus^ ;
of the poems I have written which were never printed, the

74 TALES OF A TRAVELLER

plays I have presented which were never performed, and
the tracts I have pubhshed which were never purchased.
It seemed as if booksellers, managers, and the very public,
had entered into a conspiracy to starve me. Still I could
5 not prevail upon myself to give up the trial, nor abandon
those dreams of renown in which I had indulged. How
should I be able to look the literary circle of my native
village in the face, if I were so completely to falsify their
predictions ? For some time longer, therefore, I continued

lo to write for fame, and was, of course, the most miserable
dog in existence, besides being in continual risk of starva-
tion. I accumulated loads of literary treasure on my
shelves — loads which were to be treasures to posterity ;
but, alas ! they put not a penny into my purse. What

15 was all this wealth to my present necessities ? I could not
patch my elbows with an ode°; nor satisfy my hunger
with blank verse. ^^ Shall a man fill his belly with the
east wind?'' says the proverb. He may as well do so as
with poetry.

20 I have many a time strolled sorrowfully along, with a
sad heart and an empty stomach, about five o'clock, and
looked wistfully down the areas in the west end of the
town, and seen through the kitchen-windows the fires
gleaming, and the joints of meat turning on the spits

25 and dripping with gravy, and the cook-maids beating up
puddings, or trussing turkeys, and felt for the moment
that if I could but have the run of one of those kitchens,
Apollo and the Muses might have the hungry heights of
Parnassus for me. Oh, sir ! talk of meditations among

30 the tombs, — they are nothing so melancholy as the
meditations of a poor devil without penny in pouch, along
a line of kitchen-windows toward dinner-time.

At length, when almost reduced to famine and despair,

THE POOR-DEVIL AUTHOR 75

the idea all at once entered my head, that perhaps I was
not so clever a fellow as the village and myself had sup-
posed. It was the salvation of me. The moment the idea
popped into my brain it brought conviction and comfort
with it. I awoke as from a dream ; I gave up immor- 5
tal fame to those who could live on air; took to writing
for mere bread; and have ever since had a very toler-
able life of it. There is no man of letters so much at his
ease, sir, as he who has no character to gain or lose. I
had to train myself to it a little, and to clip my wings short 10
at first, or they would have carried me up into poetry in
spite of myself. So I determined to begin by the opposite
extreme, and abandoning the higher regions of the craft,
I came plump down to the lowest, and turned creeper.
"Creeper! and pray what is that?^^ said I. 15

"Oh, sir, I see you are ignorant of the language of the
craft ; a creeper is one who furnishes the newspapers with
paragraphs at so much a hne; and who goes about in
quest of misfortunes; attends the Bow Street office, °
the courts of justice, and every other den of mischief and 20
iniquity. We are paid at the rate of a penny a line, and
as we can sell the same paragraph to almost every paper,
we sometimes pick up a very decent day's work. Now
and then the muse is unkind, or the day uncommonly
quiet, and then we rather starve; and sometimes the un- 25
conscionable editors will clip our paragraphs when they
are a little too rhetorical, and snip off twopence or three-
pence at a go. I have many a time had my pot of porter
snipped off my dinner in this way, and have had to dine
with dry lips. However, I cannot complain. I rose 30
gradually in the lower ranks of the craft, and am now, I
think, in the most comfortable region of literature. '^
"And pray,'' said I, "what may you be at present?''

76 TALES OF A TRAVELLER

"At present/' said he, "I am a regular job- writer,
and turn my hand to any thing. I work up the writings
of others at so much a sheet ; turn off translations ; write
second-rate articles to fill up reviews and magazines;
5 compile travels and voyages, and furnish theatrical
criticisms for the newspapers. All this authorship,
you perceive, is anonymous; it gives me no reputation
except among the trade ; where I am considered an author
of all work, and am always sure of employ. That's the
lo only reputation I want. I sleep soundly, without dread
of duns or critics, and leave immortal fame to those that
choose to fret and fight about it. Take my word for it,
the only happy author in this world is he who is below the
care of reputation.''

NOTORIETY^

When we had emerged from the Hterary nest of honest
Dribble, and had passed safely through the dangers of
Breakneck Stairs, and the labyrinths^ of Fleet Market,
Buckthorne indulged in many comments upon the peep
into literary life which he had furnished me. 5

I expressed my surprise at finding it so different a
world from what I had imagined. ^^It is always so,'' said
he, ^^with strangers. The land of literature is a fairy-
land to those who view it at a distance, but, like all other
landscapes, the charm fades on a nearer approach, and the 10
thorns and briers become visible. The republic of letters
is the most factious and discordant of all republics, an-
cient or modern.''

''Yet," said I, smihng, ''you would not have me take
honest Dribble's experience as a view of the land. He is 15
but a mousing owl ; a mere groundling. We should have
quite a different strain from one of those fortunate authors
whom we see sporting about the empyreal heights of
fashion, like swallows in the blue sky of a summer's day."

"Perhaps we might," replied he, "but I doubt it. I 20
doubt whether, if any one, even of the most successful,
were to tell his actual feelings, you would not find the
truth of friend Dribble's philosophy with respect to repu-
tation. ° One you would find carrying a gay face to the
world, while some vulture critic was preying upon his 25

77

78 tal:eis of a traveller

very liver. Another, who was simple enough to mistake
fashion for fame, you would find watching countenances,
and cultivating invitations, more ambitious to figure in the
heau monde than the world of letters, and apt to be rend-
5 ered wretched by the neglect of an illiterate peer, or a
dissipated duchess. Those who were rising to fame you
would find tormented with anxiety to get higher; and
those who had gained the summit, in constant apprehen-
sion of a decline.

lo '' Even those who are indifferent to the buzz of notoriety,
and the farce of fashion, are not much better off, being
incessantly harassed by intrusions on their leisure, and
interruptions of their pursuits ; for, whatever may be his
feelings, when once an author is launched into notoriety,

15 he must go the rounds until the idle curiosity of the day is
satisfied, and he is thrown aside to make way for some
new caprice. Upon the whole, I do not know but he is
most fortunate who engages in the whirl through ambi-
tion, however tormenting; as it is doubly irksome to be

20 obliged to join in the game without being interested in
the stake.

^^ There is a constant demand in the fashionable world
for novelty; every nine days must have its wonder, no
matter of what kind. At one time it is an author; at

25 another, a fire-eater; at another, a composer, an Indian
juggler, or an Indian chief; a man from the North Pole
or the Pyramids ; — each figures through his brief term
of notoriety, and then makes way for the succeeding
wonder. You must know that we have oddity fanciers

30 among our ladies of rank, who collect about them all
kinds of remarkable beings: fiddlers, statesmen, singers,
warriors, artists, philosophers, actors, and poets; every
kind of personage, in short, who is noted for something

NOTORIETY 79

peculiar, so that their routs° are Hke fancy-balls, where
every one comes ^in character/

^'I have had infinite amusement at these parties in
noticing how industriously every one was playing a part,
and acting out of his natural line. There is not a more 5
complete game at cross-purposes than the intercourse of
the literary and the great. The fine gentleman is always
anxious to be thought a wit, and the wit a fine gentle-
man.

^^ I have noticed a lord endeavoring to look wise and 10
talk learnedly with a man of letters, who was aiming at a
fashionable air, and the tone of a man who had lived about
town. The peer quoted a score or two learned authors,
with whom he would fain be thought intimate, while the
author talked of Sir John this, and Sir Harry that, and 15
extolled the burgundy he had drunk at Lord Such-a-one^s.
Each seemed to forget that he could only be interesting to
the other in his proper character. Had the peer been
merely a man of erudition, the author would never have
listened to his prosing; and had the author known all 20
the nobility in the Court Calendar, ° it would have given
him no interest in the eyes of the peer.

"In the same way I have seen a fine lady, remarkable
for beauty, weary a philosopher with flimsy metaphysics,
while the philosopher put on an awkward air of gallantry, 25
played with her fan, and prattled about the opera. I have
heard a sentimental poet talk very stupidly with a states-
man about the national debt; and on joining a knot of
scientific old gentlemen conversing in a corner, expecting
to hear the discussion of some valuable discovery, I found 30
they were only amusing themselves with a fat story/'

A PRACTICAL PHILOSOPHER

The anecdotes I had heard of Buckthorne's early school-
mate, together with a variety of peculiarities which I had
remarked in himself, gave me a strong curiosity to know
something of his own history. I am a traveller of the good
5 old school, and am fond of the custom laid down in books,
according to which, whenever travellers met, they sat
down forthwith, and gave a history of themselves and their
adventures. This Buckthorne, too, was a man much to
my taste ; he had seen the world, and mingled with society,

loyet retained the strong eccentricities of a man who had
lived much alone. There was a careless dash of good-
humor about him, which pleased me exceedingly; and
at times an odd tinge of melancholy mingled with his
humor, and gave it an additional zest. He was apt to

15 run into long speculations upon society and manners, and
to indulge in whimsical views of human nature ; yet there
was nothing ill-tempered in his satire. It ran more upon
the follies than the vices of mankind ; and even the follies
of his fellow-man were treated with the leniency of one

20 who felt himself to be but frail. He had evid'ently been
a little chilled and buffeted by fortune, without being
soured thereby : as some fruits become mellower and more
generous in their flavor from having been bruised and
frost-bitten. °

25 I have always had a great relish for the conversation

80

A PRACTICAL PHILOSOPHER 81

of practical philosophers of this stamp, who have profited
by the ^' sweet uses^' of adversity without imbibing its
bitterness ; who have learnt to estimate the world rightly,
yet good-humoredly ; and who, while they perceive the
truth of the saying, that '^all is vanity/' are yet able to 5
do so without vexation of spirit.

Such a man was Buckthorne.° In general a laughing
philosopher; and if at any time a shade of sadness stole
across his brow, it was but transient, — like a summer
cloud, which soon goes by, and freshens and revives the 10
fields over which it passes.

I was walking with him one day in Kensington Gardens,
— for he was a knowing epicure ° in all the cheap pleasures
and rural haunts within reach of the metropolis. It was
a delightful warm morning in spring; and he was in the 15
happy mood of a pastoral citizen, when just turned loose
into grass and sunshine. He had been watching a lark
which, rising from a bed of daisies and yellow-cups, had
sung his way up to a bright snowy cloud floating in the
deep blue sky.° 20

''Of all birds,'' said he, "I should like to be a lark. He
revels in the brightest time of the day, in the happiest
season of the year, among fresh meadows and opening
flowers; and when he has sated himself with the sweet-
ness of earth, he wings his flight up to heaven as if he 25
would drink in the melody of the morning stars. Hark to
that note ! How it comes thrilling down upon the ear !
What a stream of music, note falling over note in de-
licious cadence ! Who would trouble his head about
operas and concerts when he could walk in the fields and 30
hear such music for nothing? These are the enjoyments
which set riches at scorn, and make even a poor man
independent :

82 TALES OF A TRAVELLER

" ' I care not, Fortune, what you do deny :

You cannot rob me of free nature's grace;
You cannot shut the windows of the sky.

Through which Aurora° shows her brightening face;
5 You cannot bar my constant feet to trace

The woods and lawns by living streams at eve '

"Sir, there are homilies^ in nature ^s work worth all

the wisdom of the schools, if we could but read them

rightly, and one of the pleasantest lessons I ever received

lo in time of trouble, was from hearing the notes of the lark/'

PART THIRD
THE ITALIAN BANDITTI

PART THIRD
THE ITALIAN BANDITTI

THE INN AT TERRACINA^

Crack ! crack ! crack ! crack ! crack !

^^Here comes the estafette° from Naples/' said mine
host of the inn at Terracina; ^^ bring out the relay.^''

The estafette came galloping up the road according
to custom, brandishing over his head a short-handled 5
whip, with a long, knotted lash, every smack of which
made a report like a pistol. He was a tight, square-set
young fellow, in the usual uniform : a smart blue coat,
ornamented with facings and gold lace, but so short be-
hind as to reach scarcely below his waistband, and cocked 10
up not unlike the tail of a wren ; a cocked hat edged with
gold lace ; a pair of stiff riding boots ; but, instead of the
usual leathern breeches, he had a fragment of a pair of
drawers, that scarcely furnished an apology for modesty
to hide behind. 15

The estafette galloped up to the door, and jumped
from his horse.

"A glass of rosolio,° a fresh horse, and a pair of
breeches,^' said he, ^'and quickly, per Vamor di Dio,^ I am
behind my time, and must be off ! '' 20

85

86 TALES OF A TRAVELLER

'^San Gennaro/' replied the host; ^'why, where hast
thou left thy garment ?''

^^ Among the robbers between this and Fondi.^''
^^What, rob an estafette ! I never heard of such folly.
5 What could they hope to get from thee ? "

''My leather breeches!'' replied the estafette. ''They
were brand-new, and shone like gold, and hit the fancy
of the captain/'

"Well, these fellows grow worse and worse. To
lo meddle with an estafette ! and that merely for the sake
of a pair of leather breeches ! ''

The robbing of the government messenger seemed to
strike the host with more astonishment than any other
enormity that had taken place on the road ; and, indeed,
15 it was the first time so wanton an outrage had been com-
mitted; the robbers generally taking care not to meddle
with any thing belonging to government.

The estafette was by this time equipped, for he had
not lost an instant in making his preparations while
20 talking. The relay was ready ; the rosolio tossed off ;
he grasped the reins and the stirrup.

"Were there many robbers in the band?'' said a hand-
some, dark young man, stepping forward from the door
of the inn.
25 '^As formidable a band as ever I saw," said the esta-
fette, springing into the saddle.

"Are they cruel to travellers?" said a beautiful young
Venetian lady, who had been hanging on the gentleman's
arm.
30 ^^ Cruel, signora°!" echoed the estafette, giving a
glance at the lady as he put spurs to his horse. "Corpo
di Bacco I ° They stiletto all the men ; and, as to women
" Crack ! crack ! crack ! crack ! crack ! The last

THE INN AT TERR AC IN A 87

words were drowned in the smacking of the whip, and
away galloped the estafette along the road to the Pontine
marshes.

'^Holy Virgin!'' ejaculated the fair Venetian, ^^what
will become of us!'' 5

The inn of which we are speaking stands just outside
of the walls of Terracina, under a vast precipitous height
of rocks, crowned with the ruins of the castle of Theodric
the Goth.° The situation of Terracina is remarkable. It
is a little, ancient, lazy Italian town, on the frontiers of lo
the Roman territory. There seems to be an idle pause
in every thing about the place. The Mediterranean
spreads before it — that sea without flux or reflux. The
port is without a sail, excepting that once in a while a
solitary felucca° may be seen disgorging its holy cargo 15
of baccala, or codfish, the meagre provision for the qua-
resima, or Lent. The inhabitants are apparently a list-
less, heedless race, as people of soft sunny climates are
apt to be; but under this passive, indolent exterior are
said to lurk dangerous qualities. They are supposed by 20
many to be little better than the banditti of the neigh-
boring mountains, and indeed to hold a secret corre-
spondence with them. The solitary watch-towers, erected
here and there, along the coast, speak of pirates and
corsairs that hover about these shores ; while the low 25
huts, as stations for soldiers, which dot the distant road,
as it winds up through an olive grove, intimate that in
the ascent there is danger for the traveller, and facility
for the bandit. Indeed, it is between this town and
Fondi that the road to Naples ° is most infested by ban- 30
ditti. It has several windings and solitary places, where
the robbers are enabled to see the traveller from a
distance, from the brows of hills or impending preci-

88 TALES OF A TRAVELLER

pices, and to lie in wait for him at lonely and difficult
passes.

The Italian robbers are a desperate class of men, that
have almost formed themselves into an order of society.
5 They wear a kind of uniform, or rather costume, which
openly designates their profession. This is probably done
to diminish its skulking, lawless character, and to give it
something of a military air in the eyes of the common
people; or, perhaps, to catch by outward show and

I o finery the fancies of the young men of the villages, and
thus to gain recruits. Their dresses are often very rich
and picturesque. They wear jackets and breeches of
bright colors, sometimes gayly embroidered ; their breasts
are covered with medals and relics ; their hats are broad-

15 brimmed, with conical crowns, decorated with feathers,
or variously-colored ribands; their hair is sometimes
gathered in silk nets ; they wear a kind of sandal of cloth
or leather, bound round the legs with thongs, and ex-
tremely flexible, to enable them to scramble with ease

20 and celerity among the mountain precipices ; a broad
belt of cloth, or a sash of silk net, is stuck full of pistols
and stilettos °; a carbine ° is slung at the back; while
about them is generally thrown, in a negligent manner,
a great dingy mantle, which serves as a protection in

25 storms, or a bed in their bivouacs among the mountains.
They range over a great extent of wild country, along
the chain of Apennines, bordering on different states;
they know all the difficult passes, the short cuts for re-
treat, and the impracticable forests of the mountain sum-

30 mits, where no force dare follow them. They are secure
of the good-will of the inhabitants of those regions, a
poor and semi-barbarous race, whom they never disturb
and often enrich. Indeed, they are considered as a sort

THE INN AT TERRACINA 89

of illegitimate heroes among the mountain villages, and
in certain frontier towns where they dispose of their
plunder. Thus countenanced and sheltered, and secure
in the fastnesses of their mountains, the robbers have set
the weak police of the Italian states at defiance. It is 5
in vain that their names and descriptions are posted on
the doors of country churches, and rewards offered for
them alive or dead; the villagers are either too much
awed by the terrible instances of vengeance inflicted by
the brigands, ° or have too good an understanding with 10
them to be their betrayers. It is true they are now and
then hunted and shot down like beasts of prey by the
gens-d^armes,° their heads put in iron cages, and stuck
upon posts by the roadside, or their limbs hung up to
blacken in the trees near the places where they have 15
committed their atrocities; but these ghastly spectacles
only serve to make some dreary pass of the road still
more dreary, and to dismay the traveller, without deter-
ring the bandit.

At the time that the estafette made his sudden ap- 20
pearance almost in cuerpo^ as has been mentioned, the
audacity of the robbers had risen to an unparalleled
height. They had laid villas under contribution; they
had sent messages into country towns, to tradesmen and
rich burghers, demanding supplies of money, of clothing, 25
or even of luxuries, with menaces of vengeance in case of
refusal. They had their spies and emissaries in every
town, village, and inn, along the principal roads, to give
them notice of the movements and quality of travellers.
They had plundered carriages, carried people of rank and 30
fortune into the mountains, and obliged them to write
for heavy ransoms, and had committed outrages on fe-
males who had fallen into their hands.

90 TALES OF A TRAVELLER

Such was briefly the state of the robbers, or rather such
was the account of the rumors prevalent concerning them,
when the scene took place at the inn of Terracina. The
dark, handsome young man and the Venetian lady, inci-
5 dentally mentioned, had arrived early that afternoon in
a private carriage drawn by mules, and attended by a
single servant. They had been recently married, were
spending the honeymoon in travelling through these
delicious countries, and were on their way to visit a rich

lo aunt of the bride at Naples.

The lady was young, and tender, and timid. The
stories she had heard along the road had filled her with
apprehension, not more for herself than for her husband;
for though she had been married almost a month, she

15 still loved him almost to idolatry. When she reached
Terracina, the rumors of the road had increased to an
alarming magnitude; and the sight of two robbers'
skulls, grinning in iron cages, on each side of the old gate-
way of the town, brought her to a pause. Her husband

20 had tried in vain to reassure her; they had lingered all
the afternoon at the inn, until it was too late to think of
starting that evening, and the parting words of the esta-
fette completed her affright.

^^Let us return to Rome,'' said she, putting her arm

25 within her husband's, and drawing towards him as if for
protection. ^^Let us return to Rome, and give up this
visit to Naples."

^^And give up the visit to your aunt, too?'* said the
husband.

30 ^^Nay — what is my aunt in comparison with your
safety?" said she, looking up tenderly in his face.

There was something in her tone and manner that
showed she really was thinking more of her husband's

THE INN AT TERRACINA 91

safety at the moment than of her own; and being so
recently married, and a match of pure affection, too, it is
very possible that she was ; at least her husband thought
so. Indeed, any one who has heard the sweet musical
tone of a Venetian voice, and the melting tenderness of a 5
Venetian phrase, and felt the soft witchery of a Venetian
eye, would not wonder at the husband ^s believing what-
ever they professed. He clasped the white hand that
had been laid within his, put his arm round her slender
waist, and drawing her fondly to his bosom, ^^This night, 10
at least, '^ said he, ^^we will pass at Terracina,^^

Crack! crack! crack! crack! crack! Another appa°
rition of the road attracted the attention of mine host
and his guests. From the direction of the Pontine °
marshes, a carriage, drawn by half a dozen horses, came 15
driving at a furious rate; the postilions smacking their
whips like mad, as is the case when conscious of the
greatness or of the munificence of their fare. It was a
landaulet° with a servant mounted on the dickey. The
compact, highly finished, yet proudly simple construction 20
of the carriage; the quantity of neat, well-arranged
trunks and conveniences; the loads of box-coats on the
dickey; the fresh, burly, bluff -looking face of the master
at the window; and the ruddy, round-headed servant, in
close-cropped hair, short coat, drab breeches, and long 25
gaiters, all proclaimed at once that this was the equipage
of an Englishman.

^^ Horses to Fondi,^' said the EngHshman, as the land-
lord came bowing to the carriage-door.

'^ Would not his Excellenza alight, and take some 30
refreshments ?''

^^No — he did not mean to eat until he got to Fondi.''

^'But the horses will be some time in getting ready."

92 TALES OF A TRAVELLER

'^Ah! that^s always the way; nothing but delay in
this cursed country !^^

^^If his Excellenza° would only walk into the house — "

^'No, no, no ! — I tell you no ! — I want nothing but

5 horses, and as quick as possible. John, see that the

horses are got ready, and don^t let us be kept here an

hour or two. Tell him if we're delayed over the time,

I'll lodge a complaint with the postmaster.''

John touched his hat, and set off to obey his master's
lo orders with the taciturn obedience of an English servant.
In the meantime the Englishman ° got out of the car-
riage, and walked up and down before the inn, with his
hands in his pockets, taking no notice of the crowd of
idlers who were gazing at him and his equipage. He
15 was tall, stout, and well made; dressed with neatness
and precision ; v/ore a travelling cap of the color of ginger-
bread; and had rather an unhappy expression about the
corners of his mouth; partly from not having yet made
his dinner, and partly from not having been able to get
20 on at a greater rate than seven miles an hour. Not that
he had any other cause for haste than an Englishman's
usual hurry to get to the end of a journey; or, to use
the regular phrase, ^'to get on." Perhaps, too, he was a
little sore from having been fleeced at every stage.
25 After some time, the servant returned from the stable
with a look of some perplexity.
^^Are the horses ready, John?"

^^No, sir — I never saw such a place. There's no get-
ting any thing done. I think your honor had better step
30 into the house and get something to eat ; it will be a
long while before we get to Fundy."

^'D n the house. It's a mere trick — I'll not eat

any thing, just to spite them," said the EngHshman, still

THE INN AT TERR AC IN A 93

more crusty at the prospQct of being so long without his
dinner.

^^They say your honoris very wrong/' said John, ^'to
set off at this late hour. The road's full of highwaymen.''

^^Mere tales to get custom." 5

^^The estafette which passed us was stopped by a
whole gang/' said John, increasing his emphasis with
each additional piece of information.

^^I don't believe a word of it."

^'They robbed him of his breeches/' said John, giving lo
at the same time a hitch to his own waistband.

^^AU humbug!"

Here the dark, handsome young man stepped forward,
and addressing the Englishman very politely, in broken
English, invited him to partake of a repast he was about 15
to make.

'^Thank'ee," said the Englishman, thrusting his hands
deeper into his pockets, and casting a slight side-glance
of suspicion at the young man, as if he thought, from
his civility, he must have a design upon his purse. 20

^^We shall be most happy, if you will do us the favor,"
said the lady, in her soft Venetian dialect. There was a
sweetness in her accents that was most persuasive. The
Englishman cast a look upon her countenance; her
beauty was still more eloquent. His features instantly 25
relaxed. He made a polite bow. ^^With great pleasure,
Signora," said he.

In short, the eagerness to "get on" was suddenly
slackened; the determination to famish himself as far as
Fondi, by way of punishing the landlord, was abandoned ; 30
John chose an apartment at the inn for his master's
reception, and preparations were made to remain there
until morning.

94 TALES OF A TRAVELLER

The carriage was unpacked of such of its contents as
were indispensable for the night. There was the usual
parade of trunks and writing-desks, and portfolios and
dressing-boxes, and those other oppressive conveniences
5 which burden a comfortable man. The observant loiterers
about the inn-door, wrapped up in great dirt-colored
cloaks, with only a hawk^s-eye uncovered, made many
remarks to each other on this quantity of luggage, that
seemed enough for an army. The domestics of the inn

lo talked with wonder of the splendid dressing-case, with its
gold and silver furniture, that was spread out on the
toilet-table, and the bag of gold that chinked as it was
taken out of the trunk. The strange Milords wealth, and
the treasures he carried about him, were the talk, that

15 evening, over all Terracina.

The Englishman took some time to make his ablutions
and arrange his dress for table; and, after considerable
labor and effort in putting himself at his ease, made his
appearance, with stiff white cravat, his clothes free from

20 the least speck of dust, and adjusted with precision. He
made a civil bow on entering in the unprofessing English
way, which the fair Venetian, accustomed to the compli-
mentary salutations of the Continent, considered ex-
tremely cold.

25 The supper, as it was termed by the Italian, or dinner^
as the Englishman called it, was now served: heaven
and earth, and the waters under the earth, had been
moved to furnish it; for there were birds of the air, and
beasts of the field, and fish of the sea. The Englishman's

30 servant, too, had turned the kitchen topsy-turvy in his
zeal to cook his master a beefsteak ; and made his appear-
ance loaded with ketchup, and soy, and cayenne pepper,
and Harvey sauce, and a bottle of port wine, from that

THE INN AT TERBACINA 96

warehouse, the carriage, in which his master seemed de-
sirous of carrying England about the world with him.
Indeed, the repast was one of those Italian farragoes
which require a little qualifying. The tureen of soup
was a black sea, with livers, and limbs, and fragments 5
of all kinds of birds and beasts floating like wrecks about
it. A meagre-winged animal, which mine host called a
delicate chicken, had evidently died of a consumption.
The macaroni was smoked. The beefsteak was tough
buffalo's flesh. There was what appeared to be a dish 10
of stewed eels, of which the Englishman ate with great
relish; but had nearly refunded them when told that
they were vipers, caught among the rocks of Terracina,
and esteemed a great delicacy.

Nothing, however, conquers a traveller's spleen sooner 15
than eating, whatever may be the cookery; and nothing
brings him into good-humor with his company sooner
than eating together; the Englishman, therefore, had
not half finished his repast and his bottle before he began
to think the Venetian a very tolerable fellow for a for- 20
eigner, and his wife almost handsome enough to be an
Englishwoman.

In the course of the repast the usual topics of travellers
were discussed, and among others the reports of robbers
which harassed the mind of the fair Venetian. The land- 25
lord and waiter dipped into the conversation with that
familiarity permitted on the Continent, and served up
so many bloody tales as they served up the dishes, that
they almost frightened away the poor lady's appetite.
The Englishman, who had a national antipathy to every 30
thing technically cafled ''humbug," hstened to them all
with a certain screw of the mouth, expressive of in-
credulity. There was the well-known story of the school

96 TALES OF A TRAVELLER

of Terracina, captured by the robbers; and one of the
scholars cruelly massacred in order to bring the parents
to terms for the ransom of the rest. And another of a
gentleman of Rome, who received his son's ear in a letter,
5 with information that his son would be remitted to him
in this way, by instalments, until he paid the required
ransom.

The fair Venetian shuddered as she heard these tales,
and the landlord, like a true narrator of the terrible,
lo doubled the dose when he saw how it operated. He was
just proceeding to relate the misfortunes of a great Eng-
lish lord and his family, when the Englishman, tired of
his volubility, interrupted him, and pronounced these
accounts to be mere travellers' tales, or the exaggerations
15 of ignorant peasants and designing innkeepers. The land-
lord was indignant at the doubt levelled at his stories,
and the innuendo^ levelled at his cloth°; he cited, in
corroboration, half a dozen tales still more terrible.

"I don't believe a word of them," said the Englishman.
20 ^'But the robbers have been tried and executed!"

^^ All a farce!"

*' But their heads are stuck up along the road ! "

'^Old skulls accumulated during a century."

The landlord muttered to himself as he went out at
25 the door: ^^ San Gennarof quanta sono singolari questi
Inglesi!°''

A fresh hubbub outside of the inn announced the

arrival of more travellers; and, from the variety of

voices, or rather of clamors, the clattering of hoofs, the

30 rattling of wheels, and the general uproar both within

and without, the arrival seemed to be numerous.

It was, in fact, the procaccio° and its convoy — a kind
of caravan which sets out on certain days for the trans-

THE INN AT TERRACINA 97

portation of merchandise, with an escort of soldiery to
protect it from the robbers. Travellers avail themselves
of its protection, and a long file of carriages generally
accompany it.

A considerable time elapsed before either landlord or 5
waiter returned, being hurried hither and thither by that
tempest of noise and bustle which takes place in an
Italian inn on the arrival of any considerable accession
of custom. When mine host reappeared there was a
smile of triumph on his countenance. 10

"Perhaps,'^ said he, as he cleared the table, "perhaps
the signor has not heard of what has happened?"

"What?'' said the Englishman, dryly.

"Why, the procaccio has brought accounts of fresh ex-
ploits of the robbers." 15

"Pish!"

"There's more news of the English Milor and his
family," said the host, exultingly.

"An English lord? What English lord?"

"Milor Popkin." 20

"Lord Popkins? I never heard of such a title!"

"O sicuro° ! a great nobleman, who passed through
here lately with mi ladi and her daughters. A magnifico,
one of the grand counsellors of London, an almanno ! "

" Almanno — almanno ? — tut — he means alderman." 25

"Sicuro — Aldermanno Popkin, and the Principessa
Popkin, and the Signorine Popkin ! " said mine host,
triumphantly.

He now put himself into an attitude, and would have
launched into a full detail, had he not been thwarted by 30
the Englishman, who seemed determined neither to credit
nor indulge him in his stories, but dryly motioned for
him to clear away the table.

98 TALES OF A TRAVELLER

An Italian tongue, however, is not easily checked;
that of mine host continued to wag with increasing volu-
bility, as he conveyed the relics of the repast out of the
room; and the last that could be distinguished of his
5 voice,, as it died away along the corridor, was the^iteration
of the favorite word, Popkin — Pbpkin — Popkin — pop
— pop — pop.

The arrival of the procaccio had, indeed, filled the
house with stories, as it had with guests. The English-

loman and his companions walked after supper up and
down the large hall, or common room of the inn, which
ran through the centre of the building. It was spacious
and somewhat dirty, with tables placed in various parts,
at which groups of travellers were seated; while others

15 strolled about, waiting, in famished impatience, for their
evening ^s meal.

It was a heterogeneous assemblage of people of all
ranks and countries, who had arrived in all kinds of
vehicles. Though distinct knots of travellers, yet the

20 travelling together, under one common escort, had
jumbled them into a certain degree of companionship on
the road; besides, on the Continent travellers are always
familiar, and nothing is more motley than the groups
which gather casually together in sociable conversation in

25 the public rooms of inns.

The formidable numbers, and formidable guard of the
procaccio had prevented any molestation from banditti;
but every party of travellers had its tale of wonder, and
one carriage vied with another in its budget .of assertions

30 and surmises. Fierce, whiskered faces had been seen
peering over the rocks; carbines and stilettos gleaming
from among the bushes; suspicious-looking fellows, with
flapped hats and scowling eyes, had occasionally recon-

THE INN AT TERR AC IN A 99

noitred a straggling carriage, but had disappeared on
seeing the guard.

The fair Venetian Hstened to all these stories with
that avidity with which w^e always pamper any feeling
of alarm ; even thfe Englishman began to feel interested 5
in the common topic, desirous of getting more correct
information than mere flying reports. Conquering, there-
fore, that shyness which is prone to keep an Englishman
sohtary in crowds, he approached one of the talking
groups, the oracle of which was a tall, thin Italian, with 10
long aquiline ° nose, a high forehead, and lively prominent
eye, beaming from under a green velvet travelling-cap,
with gold tassel. He was of Rome, a surgeon by profes-
sion, a poet by choice, and something of an improvisatore.°

In the present instance, however, he was talking in 15
plain prose, but holding forth with the fluency of one
who talks well, and likes to exert his talent. A question
or two from the Englishman drew copious replies, for an
Englishman sociable among strangers is regarded as a
phenomenon on the Continent, and always treated with 20
attention for the rarity's sake. The improvisatore gave
much the same account of the banditti that I have already
furnished.

"But why does not the police exert itself, and root
them out?'' demanded the Englishman. 25

"Because the police is too weak, and the banditti are
too strong," replied the other. "To root them out
would be a more difficult task than you imagine. They
are connected and almost identified with the mountain
peasantry and the people of the villages. The numerous 30
bands have an understanding with each other, and with
the country round. A gendarme cannot stir without
their being aware of it. They have their scouts every-

100 TALES OF A TRAVELLER

where, who lurk about towns, villages, and inns, mingle
in every crowd, and pervade every place of resort. I
should not be surprised if some one should be supervising
us at this moment/' °
5 The fair Venetian looked round fearfully, and turned
pale.

Here the improvisatore was interrupted by a lively
Neapolitan lawyer.

'^By the way,'' said he, ^^I recollect a little adventure

of a learned doctor, a friend of mine, which happened

lo in this very neighborhood, not far from the ruins of The-

odric's Castle, which are on the top of those great rocky

heights above the town."

A wish was, of course, expressed to hear the adventure
of the doctor, by all excepting the improvisatore, who,
15 being fond of talking and of hearing himself talk, and
accustomed, moreover, to harangue without interruption,
looked rather annoyed at being checked when in full
career. ° The Neapolitan, however, took no notice of his
chagrin, but related the following anecdote.

ADVENTURE OF THE LITTLE ANTIQUARY

My friend, the Doctor, was a thorough antiquary^; a
Httle rusty, musty old fellow, always groping among
ruins. He relished a building as you Englishmen relish
a cheese, — the more mouldy and crumbling it was, the
more it suited his taste. A shell of an old nameless 5
temple, or the cracked walls of a broken-down amphi-
theatre, would throw him into raptures; and he took
more delight in these crusts and cheese-parings of antiq-
uity than in the best-conditioned modern palaces.

He was a curious collector of coins also, and had just 10
gained an accession of wealth that almost turned his
brain. He had picked up, for instance, several Roman
Consulars,^ half a Roman As,° two Funics, ° which had
doubtless belonged to the soldiers of Hannibal, ° having
been found on the very spot where they had encamped 15
among the Apennines. He had, moreover, one Samnite,°
struck after the Social War, and a Fhilistis,^ a queen
that never existed; but above all, he valued himself
upon a coin, indescribable to any but the initiated in
these matters, bearing a cross on one side and a pegasus 20
on the other, and which, by some antiquarian logic, the
Httle man adduced as an historical document, illustrating
the progress of Christianity.

All these precious coins he carried about him in a
leathern purse, buried deep in a pocket of his little black 25
breeches.

lOX

102 TALES OF A TRAVELLER

The last maggot he had taken into his brain was to

hunt after the ancient cities of the Pelasgi,° which are

said to exist to this day among the mountains of the

Abruzzi,° but about which a singular degree of obscurity

5 prevails.^ He had made many discoveries concerning

^ Among the many fond speculations of antiquaries is that of
the existence of traces of the ancient Pelasgian cities in the Apen-
nines; and many a wistful eye is cast by the traveller, versed in
antiquarian lore, at the richly wooded mountains of the Abruzzi,

lo as a forbidden fairyland of research. These spots, so beauti-
ful, yet so inaccessible, from the rudeness of their inhabitants
and the hordes of banditti which infest them, are a region of fable
to the learned. Sometimes a wealthy virtuoso, whose purse
and whose consequence could command a military escort, has

15 penetrated to some individual point among the mountains;
and sometimes a wandering artist or student, under protection
of poverty or insignificance, has brought away some vague ac-
count, only calculated to give a keener edge to curiosity and con-
jecture.

20 By those who maintain the existence of the Pelasgian cities,
it is affirmed that the formation of the different kingdoms in
the Peloponnesus ° gradually caused the expulsion thence of the
Pelasgi; but that their great migration may be dated from the
finishing the wall around the Acropolis, ° and that at this period

25 they came to Italy. To these, in the spirit of theory, they would
ascribe the introduction of the elegant arts into the country.
It is evident, however, that, as barbarians flying before the first
dawn of civilization, they could bring little with them superior
to the inventions of the aborigines, and nothing that would have

30 survived to the antiquarian through such a lapse of ages. It
would appear more probable that these cities, improperly termed
Pelasgian, were coeval with many that have been discovered.
The romantic Aricia,° built by Hippolytus before the siege of
Troy,° and the poetic Tibur,® Osculate, and Proenes, built by

35 Telegonus® after the dispersion of the Greeks; — these, lying
contiguous to inhabited and cultivated spots, have been dis-
covered. There are others, too, on the ruins of which the later
and more civilized Grecian colonists have ingrafted themselves,
and which have become known by their merits or their medals.

40 But that there are many still undiscovered, imbedded in the
Abruzzi, it is the delight of the antiquarians to fancy. Strange
that such a virgin soil for research, such an unknown realm of
knowledge, should at this day remain in the very centre of hack-
neyed Italy !

ADVENTURE OF THE LITTLE ANTIQUARY 103

them, and had recorded a great many valuable notes
and memorandums on the subject, in a voluminous book,
which he always carried about with him, either for the
purpose of frequent reference or through fear lest the
precious document should fall into the hands of brother 5
antiquaries. He had, therefore, a large pocket in the
skirt of his coat, where he bore about this inestimable
tome,° banging against his rear as he walked.

Thus heavily laden with the spoils of antiquity, ° the
good little man, during a sojourn at Terracina, mounted 10
one day the rocky cliffs which overhang the town, to
visit the castle of Theodric. He was groping about the
ruins towards the hour of sunset, buried in his reflections,
his wits no doubt wool-gathering among the Goths and
Romans, when he heard footsteps behind him. 15

He turned, and beheld five or six young fellows, of
rough, saucy demeanor, clad in a singular manner, half
peasant, half huntsman, with carbines in their hands.
Their whole appearance and carriage left him no doubt
into what company he had fallen. 20

The Doctor was a feeble Httle man, poor in look, and
poorer in purse. He had but little gold or silver to be
robbed of; but then he had his curious ancient coin in
his breeches-pocket. He had, moreover, certain other
valuables, such as an old silver watch, thick as a turnip, 25
with figures on it large enough for a clock; and a set of
seals at the end of a steel chain, dangling half-way down
to his knees. All these were of precious esteem, being
family rehcs. He had also a seal-ring, a veritable antique
intaglio, ° that covered half his knuckle. It was a Venus, 30
which the old man almost worshipped with the zeal of a
voluptuary. But what he most valued was his inesti-
mable collection of hints relative to the Pelasgian cities,

104 TALES OF A TRAVELLER

which he would gladly have given all the inoney in his
pocket to have had safe at the bottom of his trunk in
Terracina.

However, he plucked up a stout heart, at least as stout
5 a heart as he could, seeing that he was but a puny little
man at the best of times. So he wished the hunters a
^'huon giornoJ' ° They returned his salutation, giving the
old gentleman a sociable slap on the back that made his
heart leap into his throat.

lo They fell into conversation, and walked for some time
together among the heights, the Doctor wishing them
all the while at the bottom of the crater of Vesuvius.
At length they came to a small osteria° on the mountain,
where they proposed to enter and have a cup of wine

15 together; the Doctor consented, though he would as
soon have been invited to drink hemlock. °

One of the gang remained sentinel at the door; the
others swaggered into the house, stood their guns in the
corner of the room, and each drawing a pistol or stiletto

20 out of his belt, laid it upon the table. They now drew
benches round the board, called lustily for wine, and
hailing the Doctor as though he had been a boon com-
panion of long standing, insisted upon his sitting down
and making merry.

25 The worthy man complied with forced grimace, but
with fear and trembling; sitting uneasily on the edge of
his chair; eying ruefully the black-muzzled pistols, and
cold, naked stilettos; and supping down heartburn with
every drop of liquor. His new comrades, however, pushed

30 the bottle bravely, and plied him vigorously. They
sang, they laughed; told excellent stories of their rob-
beries and combat, mingled with many ruffian jokes;
and the little Doctor was fain to laugh at all their cut-

ADVENTURE OF THE LITTLE ANTIQUARY 105

throat pleasantries, though his heart was dying away at
the very bottom of his bosom.

By their own account, they were young men from the
villages, who had recently taken up this line of life out
of the wild caprice of youth. They talked of their mur- 5
derous exploits as a sportsman talks of his amusements :
to shoot down a traveller seemed of little more conse-
quence to them than to shoot a hare. They spoke with
rapture of the glorious roving life they led, free as birds;
here to-day, gone to-morrow ; ranging the forests, climb- 10
ing the rocks, scouring the valleys; the world their own
wherever they could lay hold of it ; full purses — merry
companions — pretty women. The little antiquary got
fuddled with their talk and their wine, for they did not
spare bumpers. He half forgot his fears, his seal-ring, 15
and his family watch °; even the treatise on the Pelasgian
cities, which was warming under him, for a time faded from
his memory in the glowing picture that they drew. He
declares that he no longer wonders at the prevalence of this
robber mania among the mountains ; for he felt at the time, 20
that, had he been a young man, and a strong man, and had
there been no danger of the galleys ° in the background, he
should have been half tempted himself to turn bandit.

At length the hour of separating arrived. The Doctor
was suddenly called to himself and his fears by seeing the 25
robbers resume their weapons. He now quaked for his
valuables, and, above all, for his antiquarian treatise. °
He endeavored, however, to look cool and unconcerned;
and drew from out his deep pocket, a long, lank, leathern
purse, far gone in consumption, at the bottom of which 30
a few coin chinked with the trembling of his hand.

The chief of the party observed his movement, and
laying his hand UDon the antiquary's shoulder, ^^Harkee !

106 TALES OF A TRAVELLER

Signer Dottore!^^ said he, ^^we have drunk together as
friends and comrades; let us part as such. We under-
stand you. We know who and what you are, for we
know who everybody is that sleeps at Terracina, or that
5 puts foot upon the road. You are a rich man, but you
carry all your wealth in your head ; we cannot get at it,
and we should not know what to do with it if we could.
I see you are uneasy about your ring; but don't worry
yourself, it is not worth taking ; you think it an antique,

lo but it's a counterfeit — a mere sham.''

Here the ire of the antiquary rose : the Doctor forgot
himself in his zeal for the character of his ring. Heaven
and earth! his Venus a sham! Had they pronounced
the wife of his bosom ^^no better than she should be,"

15 he could not have been more indignant. He fired up in
vindication of his intaglio.

^'Nay, nay," continued the robber, ^^we have no time
to dispute about it; value it as you please. Come, you're
a brave little old signor — one more cup of wine, and

20 we'll pay the reckoning. No compliments — you shall
not pay a grain — you are our guest — I insist upon it.
So — now make the best of your way back to Terracina ;
it's growing late. Buono viaggio f ° And harkee ! take
care how you wander among these mountains, — you may

25 not always fall into such good company."

They shouldered their guns, sprang gayly up the rocks,
and the little Doctor hobbled back to Terracina, rejoic-
ing that the robbers had left his watch, his coins, and his
treatise unmolested; but still indignant that they should

30 have pronounced his Venus an impostor.

The improvisatore had shown many symptoms of im-
patience during this recital. He saw his theme in dan-

ADVENTURE OF THE LITTLE ANTIQUARY 107

ger of being taken out of his hands, which to an able
talker is always a grievance, but to an improvisatore is
an absolute calamity; and then for it to be taken away
by a Neapolitan was still more vexatious, — the inhabit-
ants of the different Italian states having an implacable 5
jealousy of each other in all things, great and small. He
took advantage of the first pause of the Neapolitan to
catch hold again of the thread of the conversation.

^^As I observed before,^' said he, ^Hhe prowhngs of the
banditti are so extensive; they are so much in league 10
with one another, and so interwoven with various ranks
of society ''

^^For that matter,^' said the Neapolitan, ^^I have
heard that your government has had some understand-
ing with those gentry; or, at least, has winked at their 15
misdeeds."

^^My government?" said the Roman, impatiently.

'^Ay, they say that Cardinal Gonsalvi° "

*^Hush!" said the Roman, holding up his finger, and
rolling his large eyes about the room. 20

^^Nay, I only repeat what I heard commonly rumored
in Rome," replied the Neapolitan, sturdily. ^'It was
openly said that the Cardinal had been up to the moun-
tains, and had an interview with some of the chiefs. And
I have been told, moreover, that, while honest people 25
have been kicking their heels in the CardinaFs ante-
chamber, waiting by the hour for admittance, one of
those stiletto-looking fellows has elbowed his way through
the crowd, and entered without ceremony into the Car-
dinal's presence." 30

^'I know," observed the improvisatore, "that there
have been such reports, and it is not impossible that
government may have made use of these men at particu-

108 TALES OF A THAVElLER

lar periods: such as at the time of your late abortive
revolution, when your carbonari ° were so busy with their
machinations all over the country. The information
which such men could collect, who were familiar, not
S merely with the recesses and secret places of the moun-
tains, but also with the dark and dangerous recesses of
society; who knew every suspicious character, and all
his movements and all his lurkings; in a word, who
knew all that was plotting in a world of mischief ; — the

lo utility of such men as instruments in the hands of gov-
ernment was too obvious to be overlooked; and Cardinal
Gonsalvi, as a politic statesman, may, perhaps, have
made use of them. Besides, he knew that, with all their
atrocities, the robbers were always respectful towards the

15 Church, and devout in their religion. '^

^'Religion! religion !^^ echoed the Enghshman.
"Yes, religion, ^^ repeated the Roman. "They have
each their patron saint. They will cross themselves and
say their prayers, whenever, in their mountain haunts,

20 they hear the matin or the Ave-Maria bells sounding
from the valleys; and will often descend from their
retreats, and run imminent risks to visit some favorite
shrine. I recollect an instance in point.

"I was one evening in the village of Frascati,° which

25 stands on the beautiful brow of a hill rising from the
Campagna,° just below the Abruzzi Mountains. The
people, as is usual in fine evenings in our Italian towns
and villages, were recreating themselves in the open air,
and chatting in groups in the public square. While I

30 was conversing with a knot of friends, I noticed a tall
fellow, wrapped in a great mantle, passing across the
square, but skulking along in the dusk, as if anxious to
avoid observation. The people drew back as he passed.

ADVENTURE OF THE LITTLE ANTIQUARY 109

It was whispered to me that he was a notorious
bandit/'

^^But why was he not immediately seized ?'' said the
EngHshman.

^'Because it was nobody's business; because nobody 5
wished to incur the vengeance of his comrades; because
there were not sufficient gendarmes near to insure security
against the number of desperadoes he might have at
hand; because the gendarmes might not have received
particular instructions with respect to him, and might not 10
feel disposed to engage in a hazardous conflict without
compulsion. In short, I might give you a thousand
reasons rising out of the state of our government and
manners, not one of which after all might appear satis-
factory/' 15

The Englishman shrugged his shoulders with an air of
contempt.

^^I have been told," added the Roman, rather quickly,
'Hhat even in your metropolis of London, notorious
thieves, well known to the police as such, walk the streets 20
at noonday in search of their prey, and are not molested
unless caught in the very act of robbery."

The Englishman gave another shrug, but with a dif-
ferent expression.

^^Well, sir, I fixed my eye on this daring wolf, thus 25
prowling through the fold, and saw him enter a church.
I was curious to witness his devotion. You know our
spacious, magnificent churches. The one in which he
entered was vast, and shrouded in the dusk of evening.
At the extremity of the long aisles a couple of tapers 30
feebly glimmered on the grand altar. In one of the side
chapels was a votive candle placed before the image of
a saint. Before this image the robber had prostrated

110 TALES OF A TRAVELLER

himself. His mantle partly falling off from his shoulders
as he knelt, revealed a form of Herculean ° strength; a
stiletto and pistol glittered in his belt; and the light
falling on his countenance, showed features not unhand-
5 some, but strongly and fiercely characterized. As he
prayed, he became vehemently agitated ; his lips quivered ;
sighs and murmurs, almost groans, burst from him ; he
beat his breast with violence; then clasped his hands
and wrung them convulsively, as he extended them

lo towards the image. Never had I seen such a terrific
picture of remorse. I felt fearful of being discovered
watching him, and v/ithdrew. Shortly afterwards I saw
him issue from the church wrapped in his mantle. He
recrossed the square, and no doubt returned to the

15 mountains with a disburdened conscience, ready to incur
a fresh arrear of crime. '^

Here the Neapolitan was about to get hold of the con-
versation, and had just preluded with the ominous
remark, ^^That puts me in mind of a circumstance,''

20 when the improvisatore, too adroit to suffer himself to be
again superseded, went on, pretending not to hear the
interruption. °

"Among the many circumstances connected with the
banditti, which serve to render the traveller uneasy and ,

25 insecure, is the understanding which they sometimes
have with innkeepers. Many an isolated inn among the
lonely parts of the Roman territories, and especially
about the mountains, are of a dangerous and perfidious
character. They are places where the banditti gather

30 information, and where the unwary traveller, remote
from hearing or assistance, is betrayed to the midnight
dagger. The robberies committed at such inns are often
accompanied by the most atrocious murders; for it is

ADVENTURE OF THE LITTLE ANTIQUARY 111

only by the complete extermination of their victims that
the assassins can escape detection. I recollect an adven-
ture/^ added he, ^^ which occurred at one of these solitary
mountain inns, which, as you all seem in a mood for
robber anecdotes, may not be uninteresting/' 5

Having secured the attention and awakened the curi-
osity of the by-standers, he paused for a moment, rolled
up his large eyes as improvisator! are apt to do when
they would recollect an impromptu, ° and then related
with great dramatic effect the following story, which had, lo
doubtless, been well prepared and digested beforehand.

THE BELATED TRAVELLERS

It was late one evening that a carriage, drawn by
mules, slowly toiled its way up one of the passes of the
Apennines. It was through one of the wildest defiles,
where a hamlet occurred only at distant intervals, perched
5 on the summit of some rocky height, or the white towers
of a convent peeped out from among the thick mountain
foliage. The carriage was of ancient and ponderous con-
struction. Its faded embellishments spoke of former
splendor, but its. crazy springs and axle-trees creaked°

lo out the tale of present decline. Within was seated a tall,
thin old gentleman, in a kind of military travelling-
dress, and a foraging-cap° trimmed with fur, though the
gray locks which stole from under it hinted that his
fighting days were over. Beside him was a pale, beauti-

15 ful girl of eighteen, dressed in something of a northern
or Polish costume. One servant was seated in front, a
rusty, crusty-looking fellow, with a scar across his face,
an orange-tawny schnurhart, or pair of moustaches,
bristling from under his nose, and altogether the air of

20 an old soldier.

It was, in fact, the equipage of a Polish nobleman; a
wreck of one of those princely families once of almost
oriental magnificence, but broken down and impoverished
by the disasters of Poland. The count, like many other

25 generous spirits, had been found guilty of the crime of

112

THE BELATED TRAVELLERS 113

patriotism, and was, in a manner, an exile from his
country. He had resided for some time in the first cities
of Italy, for the education of his daughter, in whom all
his cares and pleasures were now centred. He had taken
her into society, where her beauty and her accomplish- 5
ments gained her many admirers; and had she not been
the daughter of a poor broken-dowti Polish nobleman, it
is more than probable many would have contended for
her hand. Suddenly, however, her health became deli-
cate and drooping ; her gayety fled with the roses of her 10
cheek, and she sank into silence and debility. The old
count saw the change with the solicitude of a parent.
^^We must try a change of air and scene,'' said he; and
in a few days the old family-carriage was rumbling among
the Apennines. 15

Their only attendant was the veteran Caspar, who had
been born in the family, and grown rusty in its service.
He had followed his master in all his fortunes : had fought
by his side; had stood over him when fallen in battle;
and had received, in his defence, the sabre-cut which 20
added such grimness to his countenance. He was now
his valet, his steward, his butler, his factotum. ° The
only being that rivalled his master in his affections was
his youthful mistress. She had grown up under his eye,
he had led her by the hand when she was a child, and 25
he now looked upon her with the fondness of a parent.
Nay, he even took the freedom of a parent in giving his
blunt opinion on all matters which he thought were for
her good; and felt a parent's vanity at seeing her gazed
at and admired. 30

The evening was thickening; they had been for some
time passing through narrow gorges of the mountains,
along the edges of a tumbling stream. The scenery was

114 TALES OF A TRAVELLER

lonely and savage. The rocks often beetled over the
road, with flocks of white goats browsing on their brinks,
and gazing down upon the travellers. They had between
two and three leagues yet to go before they could reach
5 any village ; yet the muleteer, Pietro, a tippling old
fellow, who had refreshed himself at the last halting-
place, with a more than ordinary quantity of wine, sat
singing and talking alternately to his mules, and suffer-
ing them to lag on at a snaiFs pace, in spite of the fre-
lo quent entreaties of the count and maledictions of Caspar.

The clouds began to roll in heavy masses along the
mountains, shrouding their summits from view. The air
was damp and chilly. The count's solicitude on his
daughter's account overcame his usual patience. He
15 leaned from the carriage, and called to old Pietro in an
angry tone.

'^Forward!" said he. ^^It will be midnight before we
arrive at our inn.''

^^ Yonder it is, Signor," said the muleteer.
20 "Where?" demanded the count.

"Yonder," said Pietro, pointing to a desolate pile
about a quarter of a league distant.

"That the place? — why, it looks more like a ruin
than an inn. I thought we were to put up for the night
25 at a comfortable village."

Here Pietro uttered a string of piteous exclamations
and ejaculations, such as are ever at the tip of the tongue
of a delinquent muleteer. "Such roads ! and such moun-
tains ! and then his poor animals were way-worn, and
30 leg- weary ; they would fall lame ; they would never be
able to reach the village. And then what could his Ex-
cellenza wish for better than the inn; a perfect castella
— a palazza — and such people ! — and such a larder !

THE BELATED TRAVELLERS 115

— and such beds ! — His Excellenza might fare as sump-
tuously, and sleep as soundly there as a prince ! ^^

The count was easily persuaded, for he was anxious to
get his daughter out of the night air; so in a little while
the old carriage rattled and jingled into the great gate- 5
way of the inn.

The building did certainly in some measure answer to
the muleteer^s description. It was large enough for either
castle or palace ; built in a strong, but simple and almost
rude style ; with a great quantity of waste room. It had 10
in fact been, in former times, a hunting-seat of one of
the Italian princes. There was space enough within its
walls and out-buildings to have accommodated a little
army. A scanty household seemed now to people this
dreary mansion. The faces that presented themselves ^
on the arrival of the travellers were begrimed with dirt,
and scowling in their expression. They all knew old
Pietro, however, and gave him a welcome as he entered,
singing and talking, and almost whooping, into the gate-
way. 20

The hostess of the inn waited, herself, on the count
and his daughter, to show them the apartments. They
were conducted through a long gloomy corridor, and then
through a suite of chambers opening into each other,
with lofty ceilings, and great beams extending across 25
them. Every thing, however, had a wretched, squalid
look. The walls were damp and bare, excepting that
here and there hung some great painting, large enough
for a chapel, and blackened out of all distinction.

They chose two bedrooms, one within another ; the 3°
inner one for the daughter. The bedsteads were massive
and misshapen; but on examining the beds so vaunted
by old Pietro, they found them stuffed with fibres of

116 TALES OF A TRAVELLER

hemp knotted in great lumps. The count shrugged his
shoulders, but there was no choice left.

The chilliness of the apartments crept to their bones;
and they were glad to return to a common chamber or
5 kind of hall, where was a fire burning in a huge cavern,
miscalled a chimney. A quafitity of green wood, just
thrown on, puffed out volumes of smoke. The room cor-
responded to the rest of the mansion. The floor was
paved and dirty. A great oaken table stood in the

lo centre, immovable from its size and weight. The only
thing that contradicted this prevalent air of indigence
was the dress of the hostess. She was a slattern^ of
course; yet her garments, though dirty and negligent,
were of costly materials. She wore several rings of great

IS value on her fingers, and jewels in her ears, and round
her neck was a string of large pearls, to which was attached-
a sparkling crucifix. She had the remains of beauty, yet
there was something in the expression of her counte-
nance that inspired the young lady with singular aversion.

20 She was officious and obsequious in her attentions, and
both the count and his daughter felt relieved, when
she consigned them to the care of the dark, sullen-
looking servant-maid, and went off to superintend the
supper.

25 Caspar was indignant at the muleteer for having,
either through negligence or design, subjected his master
and mistress to such quarters; and vowed by his mous-
taches to have revenge on the old varlet the moment
they were safe out from among the mountains. He kept

30 up a continual quarrel with the sulky servant-maid,
which only served to increase the sinister expression with
which she regarded the travellers, from under her strong
dark eyebrows.

THE BELATED TRAVELLERS 117

As to the count, he was a good-humored, passive
traveller. Perhaps real misfortunes had subdued his
spirit, and rendered him tolerant of many of those petty
evils which make prosperous men miserable. He drew a
large broken armchair to the fireside for his daughter, 5
and another for himself, and seizing an enormous pair of
tongs, endeavored to rearrange the wood so as to pro-
duce a blaze. His efforts, however, were only repaid by
thicker puffs of smoke, which almost overcame the good
gentleman's patience. He would draw back, cast a look 10
upon his delicate daughter, then upon the cheerless,
squalid apartment, and, shrugging his shoulders, would
give a fresh stir to the fire.

Of all the miseries of a comfortless inn, however, there
is none greater than sulky attendance ; the good count 15
for some time bore the smoke in silence rather than
address himself to the scowling servant-maid. At length
he was compelled to beg for drier firewood. The woman
retired muttering. On re-entering the room hastily, with
an armful of fagots, her foot slipped ; she fell, and strik- 20
ing her head against the corner of a chair, cut her temple
severely.

The blow stunned her for a time, and the wound bled
profusely. When she recovered, she found the count's
daughter administering to her wound, and binding it up 25
with her own handkerchief. It was such an attention as
any woman of ordinary feeling would have yielded, but
perhaps there was something in the appearance of the
lovely being who bent over her, or in the tones of her
voice, that touched the heart of the woman, unused to 30
be administered to by such hands. Certain it is, she
was strongly affected. She caught the delicate hand of
the Polonaise, ° and pressed it fervently to her lips.

118 TALES OF A TRAVELLER

"May San Francesco watch over you, Signora!" ex-
claimed she.

A new arrival broke the stillness of the inn; it was a
Spanish princess with a numerous retinue. The court-
5 yard was in an uproar, the house in a bustle. The land-
lady hurried to attend such distinguished guests, and the
poor count and his daughter, and their supper, were for
a moment forgotten. The veteran Caspar muttered
Polish maledictions enough to agonize an Italian ear, but

lo it was impossible to convince the hostess of the superiority
of his old master and young mistress to the whole nobility
of Spain.

The noise of the arrival had attracted the daughter to
the window just as the new-comers had alighted. A

1 5 young cavalier sprang out of the carriage and handed
out the princess. The latter was a little shrivelled old
lady, with a face of parchment and sparkling black eyes;
she was richly and gayly dressed, and walked with the
assistance of a golden-headed cane as high as herself.

2oThe young man was tall and elegantly formed. The
count's daughter shrank back at the sight of him, though
the deep frame of the window screened her from obser-
vation. She gave a heavy sigh as she closed the case-
ment. What that sigh meant I cannot say. Perhaps it

25 was at the contrast between the splendid equipage of the
princess and the crazy rheumatic-looking old vehicle of
her father, which stood hard by. Whatever might be the
reason, the young lady closed the casement with a sigh.
She returned to her chair, — a slight shivering passed over

30 her delicate frame; she leaned her elbow on the arm of
the chair, rested her pale cheek in the palm of her hand,
and looked mournfully into the fire.

The count thought she appeared paler than usual.

THE BELATED TRAVELLERS 119

"Does any thing ail thee, my child ?^' said he.

"Nothing, dear father !^^ replied she, laying her hand
within his, and looking up smiling in his face; but as
she said so a treacherous tear rose suddenly to her eye,
and she turned away her head. 5

"The air of the window has chilled thee,^^ said the
count, fondly, "but a good night ^s rest will make all
well again.''

The supper-table was at length laid, and the supper
about to be served, when the hostess appeared, with her lo
usual obsequiousness, apologizing for showing in the new-
comers; but the night air was cold, and there was no
other chamber in the inn with a fire in it. She had
scarcely made the apology when the princess entered,
leaning on the arm of the elegant young man. 15

The count immediately recognized her for a lady
whom he had met frequently in society, both at Rome
and Naples, and at whose conversaziones, ° in fact, he
had been constantly invited. The cavalier, too, was her
nephew and heir, who had been greatly admired in the 20
gay circles, both for his merits and prospects, and who
had once been on a visit at the same time with his daughter
and himself at the villa of a nobleman near Naples.
Report had recently affianced him to a rich Spanish heiress.

The meeting was agreeable to both the count and the 25
princess. The former was a gentleman of the old school,
courteous in the extreme; the princess had been a belle
in her youth, and a woman of fashion all her life, and
liked to be attended to.

The young man approached the daughter, and began 30
something of a complimentary observation, but his man-
ner was embarrassed, and his compliment ended in an
indistinct murmur; while the daughter bowed without

120 TALES OF A TRAVELLER

looking up, moved her lips without articulating a word,
and sank again into her chair, where she sat gazing into
the fire with a thousand varying expressions passing over
her countenance.
5 This singular greeting of the young people was not
perceived by the old ones, who were occupied at the
time with their own courteous salutations. It was ar-
ranged that they should sup together ; and as the princess
travelled with her own cook, a very tolerable supper soon

lo smoked upon the board. This, too, was assisted by
choice wines, and liquors, and deUcious confitures^
brought from one of her carriages, for she was a veteran
epicure, and curious in her relish for the good things of
this world. She was, in fact, a vivacious little old lady,

IS who mingled the woman of dissipation with the devotee.
She was actually on her way to Loretto° to expiate a
long life of gallantries and peccadilloes^ by a rich offering
at the holy shrine. She was, to be sure, rather a luxuri-
ous penitent, and a contrast to the primitive pilgrims,

20 with scrip and staff and cockle-shelP ; but then it would
be unreasonable to expect such self-denial from people of
fashion, and there was not a doubt of the ample efficacy
of the rich crucifixes, and golden vessels, and jewelled
ornaments, which she was bearing to the treasury of the

25 blessed Virgin.

The princess and the count chatted much during sup-
per about the scenes and society in which they had
mingled, and did not notice that they had all the con-
versation to themselves; the young people were silent

30 and constrained. The daughter ate nothing in spite of
the politeness of the princess, who continually pressed
her to taste of one or other of the delicacies. The count
shook his head.

THE BELATED THAVELLEMS l2l

"She is not well this evening/' said he. "I thought
she would have fainted just now as she was looking out
of the window at your carriage on its arrival/'

A crimson glow flushed to the very temples of the
daughter ; but she leaned over her plate, and her tresses 5
cast a shade over her countenance.

When supper was over they drew their chairs about
the great fireplace. The flame and smoke had sub-
sided, and a heap of glowing embers diffused a grateful
warmth. A guitar, which had been brought from the 10
count's carriage, leaned against the wall ; the princess
perceived it. "Can we not have a little music before
parting for the night?" demanded she.

The count was proud of his daughter's accomplish-
ment, and joined in the request. The young man made 15
an effort of politeness, and taking up the guitar, pre-
sented it, though in an embarrassed manner, to the fair
musician. She would have declined it, but was too
much confused to do so ; indeed, she was so nervous and
agitated that she dared not trust her voice to make an 20
excuse. She touched the instrument with a faltering
hand, and, after preluding a little, accompanied herself
in several Polish airs. Her father's eyes glistened as he
sat gazing on her. Even the crusty Caspar lingered in
the room, partly through a fondness for the music of his 25
native country, but chiefly through his pride in the
musician. Indeed, the melody of the voice, and the
delicacy of the touch, were enough to have charmed more
fastidious ears. The little princess nodded her head and
tapped her hand to the music, though exceedingly out of 30
time°; while the nephew sat buried in profound con-
templation of a black picture on the opposite wall.

"And now," said the count, patting her cheek fondly,

122 TALES OF A TRAVELLER

*^one more favor. Let the princess hear that little
Spanish air you were so fond of. You can't think/'
added he, 'Svhat a proficiency she has made in your
language; though she has been a sad girl, and neglected
5 it of late.''

The color flushed the pale cheek of the daughter. She
hesitated, murmured something; but with sudden effort
collected herself, struck the guitar boldly, and began. It
was a Spanish romance, with something of love and
lo melancholy in it. She gave the first stanza with great
expression, for the tremulous, melting tones of her voice
went to the heart; but her articulation failed, her lips
quivered, the song died away, and she burst into tears.

The count folded her tenderly in his arms. ^^Thou

15 art not well, my child,'' said he, ^^and I am tasking thee

cruelly. Retire to thy chamber, and God bless thee ! ''

She bowed to the company without raising her eyes, and

glided out of the room.

The count shook his head as the door closed. '^Some-
20 thing is the matter with that child," said he, '^ which I
cannot divine. She has lost all health and spirits lately.
She was always a tender flower, and I had much pains
to rear her. Excuse a father's foolishness," continued
he, ^^but I have seen much trouble in my family; and
25 this poor girl is all that is now left to me ; and she used
to be so lively "

^' Maybe she's in love!" said the little princess, with
a shrewd nod of the head.

^'Impossible!" replied the good count, artlessly.
30^' She has never mentioned a word of such a thing to
me."

How little did the worthy gentleman dream of the
thousand cares, and griefs, and mighty love concerns

THE BELATED TRAVELLERS 123

which agitate a virgin heart, and which a timid girl
scarcely breathes unto herself.

The nephew of the princess rose abruptly and walked
about the room.

When she found herself alone in her chamber, the 5
feelings of the young lady, so long restrained, broke
forth with violence. She opened the casement that the
cool air might blow upon her throbbing temples. Per-
haps there was some little pride or pique mingled with
her emotions ; though her gentle nature did not seem 10
calculated to harbor any such angry inmate.

''He saw me weep V^ said she, with a sudden mantling
of the cheek, and a swelling of the throat, — ''but no
matter ! — no matter ! ''

And so saying, she threw her white arms across the 15
window-frame, buried her face in them, and abandoned
herself to an agony of tears. She remained lost in a
revery, until the sound of her father^s and Casper's voices
in the adjoining room gave token that the party had
retired for the night. The lights gleaming from window 20
to window showed that they were conducting the princess
to her apartments, which were in the opposite wing of
the inn; and she distinctly saw the figure of the nephew
as he passed one of the casements.

She heaved a deep, hard-drawn sigh, and was about 25
to close the lattice, when her attention was caught by
words spoken below her window by two persons who
had just turned an angle of the building.

"But what will become of the poor young lady?''
said a voice, which she recognized for that of the servant- 30
woman.

"Pooh! she must take her chance," was the reply
from old Pietro.

124 TALES OF A TRAVELLER

'^But cannot she be spared?'^ asked the other, en-
treat! ngly ; '^ she's so kind-hearted ! ''

'^Cospetto! what has got into thee?'' repHed the
other, petulantly; ^^ would you mar the whole business
5 for the sake of a silly girl?'' By this time they had got
so far from the window that the Polonaise could hear
nothing further. There was something in this fragment
of conversation calculated to alarm. Did it relate to
herself ? — and if so, what was this impending danger

lofrom which it was entreated that she might be spared?
She was several times on the point of tapping at her
father's door, to tell him what she had heard, but she
might have been mistaken; she might have heard indis-
tinctly; the conversation might have alluded to some

15 one else; at any rate, it was too indefinite to lead to any
conclusion. While in this state of irresolution, she was
startled by a low knock against the wainscot ° in a remote
part of her gloomy chamber. On holding up the light,
she beheld a small door there, which she had not before

20 remarked. It was bolted on the inside. She advanced,
and demanded who knocked, and was answered in the
voice of the female domestic. ° On opening the door, the
woman stood before it pale and agitated. She entered
softly, laying her finger on her lips in sign of caution

25 and secrecy.

^'Fly!" said she: ^' leave this house instantly, or
you are lost !"

The young lady, trembling with alarm, demanded an
explanation.

30 ^^I have no time," replied the woman, '^I dare not —
I shall be missed if I linger here — but fly instantly, or
you are lost."

*'And leave my father?"

THE BELATED TRAVELLERS 126

"Where is he?"

'^In the adjoining chamber."

"Call him, then, but lose no time."

The young lady knocked at her father^s door. He was
not yet retired to bed. She hurried into his room, and 5
told him of the fearful warnings she had received. The
count returned with her into the chamber, followed by
Caspar. His questions soon drew the truth out of the
embarrassed answers of the woman. The inn was beset
by robbers. They were to be introduced after midnight, 10
when the attendants of the princess and the rest of the
travellers were sleeping, and would be an easy prey.

"But we can barricade the inn, we can defend our-
selves," said the count.

"What ! when the people of the inn are in league with 15
the banditti?"

"How then are we to escape? Can we not order out
the carriage and depart?"

"San Francesco! for what? to give the alarm that
the plot is discovered ? That would make the robbers 20
desperate, and bring them on you at once. They have
had notice of the rich booty in the inn, and will not
easily let it escape them."

"But how else are we to get off?"

"There is a horse behind the inn," said the woman, 25
"from which the man has just dismounted who has been
to summon the aid of part of the band at a distance."

"One horse; and there are three of us!" said the
count.

"And the Spanish princess!" cried the daughter, 30
anxiously. " How can she be extricated^ from the dan-
ger?"

"Diavolo! what is she to me?" said the woman, in

126 TALES OF A TRAVELLER

sudden passion. ^'It is you I come to save, and you
will betray me, and we shall all be lost! Hark!'' con-
tinued she, ''I am called — I shall be discovered — one
word more. This door leads by a staircase to the courtr
5 yard. Under the shed, in the rear of the yard, is a
small door leading out to the fields. You will find a
horse there ; mount it ; make a circuit under the shadow
of a ridge of rocks that you will see; proceed cautiously
and quietly until you cross a brook, and find yourself on

lothe road just where there are three white crosses nailed
against a tree ; then put your horse to his speed, and
make the best of your way to the village — but recollect,
my life is in your hands — say nothing of what you have
heard or seen, whatever may happen at this inn.''

15 The woman hurried away. A short and agitated con-
sultation took place between the count, his daughter,
and the veteran Caspar. The young lady seemed to
have lost all apprehension for herself in her solicitude
for the safety of the princess. '^To fly in selfish silence,

20 and leave her to be massacred^ ! " — A shuddering seized
her at the very thought. The gallantry of the count,
too, revolted at the idea. He could not consent to turn,
his back upon a party of helpless travellers, and leave
them in ignorance of the danger which hung over them.

25 ''But what is to become of the young lady," said
Caspar, ''if the alarm is given, and the inn thrown in a
tumult? What may happen to her in a chance-medley
affray?"

Here the feelings of the father were aroused ; he looked

30 upon his lovely, helpless child, and trembled at the
chance of her falling into the hands of ruffians.

The daughter, however, thought nothing of herself.
"The princess! the princess! — only let the princess

THE BELATED TRAVELLERS 127

know her danger/' She was wilHng to share it with
her.

At length Caspar interfered with the zeal of a faithful
old servant. No time was to be lost — the first thing
was to get the young lady out of danger. '^ Mount the 5
horse/' said he to the count, ^Hake her behind you, and
fly! Make for the village, rouse the inhabitants, and
send assistance. Leave me here to give the alarm tc
the princess and her people. I am an old soldier, and I
think we shall be able to stand siege until you send us 10
aid.''

The daughter would again have insisted on staying
with the princess

'^For what!" said old Caspar, bluntly. '^You could
do no good — you would be in the way; — we should 15
have to take care of you instead of ourselves."

There was no answering these objections; the count
seized his j)istols, and taking his daughter under his
arm, moved towards the staircase. The young lady
paused, stepped back, and said, faltering with agitation 20
— ^^ There is a young cavaher with the princess — her
nephew — perhaps he may "

■^I understand you. Mademoiselle," replied old Cas-
par, with a significant nod; ^^not a hair of his head shall
suffer harm if I can help it." 25

The young lady blushed deeper than ever; she had
not anticipated being so thoroughly understood by the
blunt old servant.

'^That is not what I mean," said she, hesitating. She
would have added something, or made some explanation, 30
but the moments were precious, and her father hurried
her away.

They found their way through the courtyard to the

128 TALES OF A TRAVELLER

small postern gate where the horse stood, fastened to a
ring in the wall. The count mounted, took his daughter
behind him, and they proceeded as quietly as possible in
the direction which the woman had pointed out. Many
5 a fearful and anxious look did the daughter cast back
upon the gloomy pile; the lights which had feebly
twinkled through the dusky casements were one by one
disappearing, a sign that the inmates were gradually
sinking to repose; and she trembled with impatience,

lo lest succor should not arrive until that repose had been
fatally interrupted.

They passed silently and safely along the skirts of the
rocks, protected from observation by their overhanging
shadows. They crossed the brook, and reached the place

15 where three white crosses nailed against a tree told of
some murder that had been committed there. Just as
they had reached this ill-omened spot they beheld several
men in the gloom coming down a craggy defile among
the rocks.

2o ^^Who goes there?'' exclaimed a voice. The count
put spurs to his horse, but one of the men sprang for-
ward and seized the bridle. The horse started back,
and reared; and had not the young lady clung to her
father, she would have been thrown off. The count

25 leaned forward, put a pistol to the very head of the
ruffian, and fired. The latter fell dead. The horse
sprang forward. Two or three shots were fired, which
whistled by the fugitives, but only served to augment
their speed. They reached the village in safety.

30 The whole place was soon roused; but such was the
awe in which the banditti were held, that the inhabitants
shrunk at the idea of encountering them. A desperate
band had for some time infested that pass through the

THE BELATED TRAVELLERS 129

mountains, and the inn had long been suspected of being
one of those horrible places where the unsuspicious way-
farer is entrapped and silently disposed of. The rich
ornaments worn by the slattern hostess of the inn had
excited heavy suspicions. Several instances had occurred 5
of small parties of travellers disappearing mysteriously
on that road, who, it was supposed at first, had been
carried off by the robbers for the purpose of ransom,
but who had never been heard of more. Such were the
tales buzzed^ in the ears of the count by the villagers, 10
as he endeavored to rouse them to the rescue of the
princess and her train from their perilous situation. The
daughter seconded the exertions of her father with all
the eloquence of prayers, and tears, and beauty. Every
moment that elapsed increased her anxiety, until it be- 15
came agonizing. Fortunately there was a body of gen-
darmes resting at the village. A number of the young
villagers volunteered to accompany them, and the little
army was put in motion. The count having deposited
his daughter in a place of safety, was too much of the 20
old soldier not to hasten to the scene of danger. It
would be difficult to paint the anxious agitation of the
young lady while awaiting the result.

The party arrived at the inn just in time. The rob-
bers, finding their plans discovered, and the travellers 25
prepared for their reception, had become open and furious
in their attack. The princesses party had barricaded
themselves in one suite of apartments, and repulsed the
robbers from the doors and windows. Caspar had shown
the generalship ° of a veteran, and the nephew of the 30
princess the dashing valor of a young soldier. Their
ammunition, however, was nearly exhausted, and they
would have found it difficult to hold out much longer,

130 TALES OF A TRAVELLER

when a discharge from the musketry of the gendarmes
gave them the joyful tidings of succor.

A fierce fight ensued, for part of the robbers were sur-
prised in the inn, and had to stand siege in their turn;
5 while their comrades made desperate attempts to relieve
them from under cover of the neighboring rocks and
thickets.

I cannot pretend to give a minute account of the
fight, as I have heard it related in a variety of ways,
lo Suffice it to say, the robbers were defeated, several of
them killed, and several taken prisoners, which last,
together with the people of the inn, were either executed
or sent to the galleys.

I picked up these particulars in the course of a journey
15 which I made some time after the event had taken place.
I passed by the very inn. It was then dismantled, ex-
cepting one wing, in which a body of gendarmes was
stationed. They pointed out to me the shot-holes in the
window-frames, the walls, and the panels of the doors.
20 There were a number of withered limbs dangling from
the branches of a neighboring tree, and blackening in
the air, which I was told were the limbs of the robbers
who had been slain, and the culprits who had been exe-
cuted. The whole place had a dismal, wild, forlorn look.
25 ''Were any of the princesses party killed ? '* inquired the
Englishman.

''As far as I can recollect, there were two or three.''

".Not the nephew, I trust?'' said the fair Venetian.

"Oh no; he hastened with the count to. relieve the

30 anxiety of the daughter by the assurances of victory.

The young lady had been sustained through the interval

of suspense by the very intensity of her feelings. The

moment she saw her father returning in safety, accom-

THE BELATED TRAVELLERS l3l

panied by the nephew of the princess, she uttered a cry
of rapture, and fainted. Happily, however, she soon
recovered, and what is more, was married shortly after-
wards to the young cavalier ; and the whole party accom-
panied the old princess in her pilgrimage to Loretto, where 5
her votive ° offerings may still be seen in the treasury of
the Santa Casa/^°

It would be tedious to follow the devious course of
the conversation as it wound through a maze of stories
of the kind, until it was taken up by two other travellers 10
who had come under convoy of the procaccio : Mr.
Hobbs and Mr. Dobbs, a linen-draper and a green-grocer,
just returning from a hasty tour in Greece and the Holy
Land. They were full of the story of Alderman Popkins.
They were astonished that the robbers should dare to 15
molest a man of his importance ° on 'Change, he being
an eminent dry-salter of Throgmorton Street, and a
magistrate to boot.

In fact, the story of the Popkins family was but too
true. It was attested by too many present to be for a 20
moment doubted; and from the contradictory and con-
cordant testimony of half a score, all eager to relate it,
and all talking at the same time, the Englishman was
enabled to gather the following particulars.

ADVENTURE OF THE POPKINS FAMILY

It was but a few days before, that the carriage of
Alderman Popkins had driven up to the inn of Terracina.
Those who have seen an EngHsh family-carriage on the
Continent must have remarked the sensation it produces.
5 It is an epitome of England ; a little morsel of the old
island rolling about the world. Every thing about it com-
pact, snug, finished, and fitting. The wheels turning on
patent axles without rattling ; the body, hanging so well on
its springs, yielding to every motion, yet protecting from

lo every shock ; the ruddy faces gaping from the windows,
— sometimes of a portly old citizen, sometimes of a
voluminous dowager, and sometimes of a fine fresh hoy-
den just from boarding-school. And then the dickeys
loaded with well-dressed servants, beef-fed and bluff,

15 looking down from their heights with contempt on all the
world around; profoundly ignorant of the country and
the people, and devoutly certain that every thing not
English must be wrong.

Such was the carriage of Alderman Popkins as it made

20 its appearance at Terracina. The courier who had pre-
ceded it to order horses, and who was a Neapolitan, had
given a magnificent account of the richness and greatness
of his master; blundering with an Italian's splendor of
imagination about the Alderman's titles and dignities.

25 The host had added his usual share of exaggeration^ ; so

132

ADVENTURE OF THE POPKINS FAMILY 133

that by the time the Alderman drove up to the door, he
was a Milor — Magnifico — Principe — the Lord knows
what !

The Alderman was advised to take an escort to Fondi
and Itri, but he refused. It was as much as a man^s life 5
was worth, he said, to stop him on the king^s highway:
he would complain of it to the ambassador at Naples;
he would make a national affair of it. The Principessa
Popkins, a fresh, motherly dame, seemed perfectly secure
in the protection of her husband, so omnipotent a man 10
in the city. The Signorines Popkins, two fine bouncing
girls, looked to their brother Tom who had taken lessons
in boxing ; and as to the dandy himself, he swore no
scaramouch^ of an Itahan robber would dare to meddle
with an Englishman. The landlord shrugged his shoulders, 15
and turned out the palms of his hands with a true Italian
grimace, and the carriage of Milor Popkins rolled on.

They passed through several very suspicious places
without any molestation. The Misses Popkins, who were
very romantic, and had learnt to draw in water-colors, 20
were enchanted with the savage scenery around; it was
so like what they had read in Mrs. Radcliff^s romances;
they should like, of all things, to make sketches. At
length the carriage arrived at a place where the road
wound up a long hill. Mrs. Popkins had sunk into a 25
sleep ; the young ladies were lost in the ^^ Loves of the
Angels '' ; and the dandy was hectoring^ the postilions
from the coach-box. The Alderman got out, as he said,
to stretch his legs up the hill. It was a long, winding
ascent, and obliged him every now and then to stop and 30
blow and wipe his forehead, with many a pish! and
phew ! being rather pursy and short of wind. As the
carriage, however, was far behind him, and moved slowly

134 TALES OF A TRAVELLER

under the weight of so many well-stuffed trunks, and
well-stuffed° travellers, he had plenty of time to walk at
leisure.

On a jutting point of a rock that overhung the road,
5 nearly at the summit of the hill, just where the road
began again to descend, he saw a solitary man seated,
who appeared to be tending goats. Alderman Popkins
was one of your shrewd travellers who always like to be
picking up small information along the road; so he

I ©thought he^d just scramble up to the honest man, and
have a little talk with him by way of learning the news
and getting a lesson in Italian. As he drew near to the
peasant, he did not half like his looks. He was partly
reclining on the rocks, wrapped in the usual long mantle,

IS which, with his slouched hat, only left a part of a swarthy
visage, with a keen black eye, a beetle brow, and a fierce
moustache to be seen. He had whistled several times to
his dog, which was roving about the side of the hill. As
the Alderman approached, he arose and greeted him.

20 When standing erect, he seemed almost gigantic, at
least in the eyes of Alderman Popkins, who, however,
being a short man, might be deceived.

The latter would gladly now have been back in the
carriage, or even on ^Change in London; for he was by

25 no means well pleased with his company. However, he
determined to put the best face on matters, and was
beginning a conversation about the state of the weather,
the baddishness of the crops, and the price of goats in
that part of the country, when he heard a violent scream-

30 ing. He ran to the edge of the rock, and looking over,
beheld his carriage surrounded by robbers. One held
down the fat footman, another had the dandy by his
starched cravat, with a pistol to his head ; one was rum-

ADVENTURE OF THE POP KINS FAMILY 135

maging a portmanteau, ° another rummaging the Princi-
pessa^s pockets; while the two Misses Popkins were
screaming from each window of the carriage, and their
waiting-maid squalhng^ from the dickey.

Alderman Popkins felt all the ire of the parent and s
the magistrate roused within him. He grasped his cane,
and was on the point of scrambling down the rocks
either to assault the robbers or read the riot act,° when
he was suddenly seized by the arm. It was by his friend
the goatherd, whose cloak falling open discovered a belt lo
stuck full of pistols and stilettos. In short, he found
himself in the clutches of the captain of the band, who
had stationed himself on the rock to look out for travel-
lers and to give notice to his men.

A sad ransacking took place. Trunks were turned 15
inside out, and all the finery and frippery of the Popkins
family scattered about the road. Such a chaos of Venice
beads and Roman mosaics, and Paris bonnets of the
young ladies, mingled with the Alderman's nightcaps and
lambs' wool stockings, and the dandy's hair-brushes, 20
stays, and starched cravats.

The gentlemen were eased of° their purses and their
watches, the ladies of their jewels; and the whole party
were on the point of being carried up into the mountain,
when fortunately the appearance of soldiers at a short 25
distance obliged the robbers to make off with the spoils
they had secured, and leave the Popkins family to gather
together the remnants of their effects, and make the best
of their way to Fondi.

When safe arrived, the Alderman made a terrible 3°
blustering at the inn; threatened to complain to the
ambassador at Naples, and was ready to shake his cane
at the whole country. The dandy had many stories to

136 TALJES OF A TRAVELLER

tell of his scuffles with the brigands, who overpowered
him merely by numbers. As to the Misses Popkins,
they were quite delighted with the adventure, and were,
occupied the whole evening in writing it in their journals.
5 They declared the captain of the band to be a most
romantic-looking man, they dared to say some unfor-
tunate lover or exiled nobleman; and several of the
band to be very handsome young men — ^^ quite pic-
turesque°!'^
lo ^^In verity,^' said mine host of Terracina, ^'they say
the captain of the band is un gallant uomoJ^

"A gallant man!^' said the Englishman, indignantly:
^'I^d have your gallant man hanged like a dog!^'

"To dare to meddle with Englishmen!'' said Mr.
isHobbs.

"And such a family as the Popkinses!'' said Mr.
Dobbs.

"They ought to come upon the country for damages !''
said Mr. Hobbs.
20 "Our ambassador should make a complaint to the
government of Naples,'' said Mr. Dobbs.

"They should be obliged to drive these rascals out of
the country," said Hobbs.

"And if they did not, we should declare war against
25 them," said Dobbs.

" Pish ! — humbug ! " muttered the Englishman to him-
self, and walked away.°

The Englishman had been a little wearied by this
story, and by the ultra zeal of his countrymen, and was
30 glad when a summons to their supper relieved him from -
the crowd of travellers. He walked out with his Vene-
tian friends and a young Frenchman of an interesting

ADVENTURE OF THE POP KINS FAMILY 137

demeanor, who had become sociable with them in the
course of the conversation. They directed their steps
towards the sea, which was ht up by the rising moon.

As they strolled along the beach they came to where
a party of soldiers were stationed in a circle. They were 5
guarding a number of galley slaves, who were permitted
to refresh themselves in the evening breeze, and sport
and roll upon the sand.

The Frenchman paused, and pointed to the group of
wretches at their sports. "It is difficult,'^ said he, "to 10
conceive a more frightful mass of crime than is here col-
lected. Many of these have probably been robbers, such
as you have heard described. Such is, too often, the
career of crime in this country. The parricide, the frat-
ricide, the infanticide, the miscreant of every kind, first 15
flies from justice and turns mountain bandit; and then,
when wearied of a life of danger, becomes traitor to his
brother desperadoes; betrays them to punishment, and
thus buys a commutation of his own sentence from death
to the galleys ; happy in the privilege of wallowing ° on 20
the shore an hour a day, in this mere state of animal
enjoyment.^'

The fair Venetian shuddered as she cast a look at the
horde of wretches at their evening amusement. "They
seemed,'^ she said, "like so many serpents writhing to- 25
gether.^' And yet the idea that some of them had been
robbers, those formidable beings that haunted her im-
agination, made her still cast another fearful glance, as
we contemplate some terrible beast of prey, with a degree
of awe and horror, even though caged and chained. 30

The conversation reverted to the tales of banditti
which they had heard at the inn. The Englishman con-
demned some of them as fabrications, others as exag-

138 TALES OF A TRAVELLER

gerations.° As to the story of the improvisatore, he
pronounced it a mere piece of romance, originating in the
heated brain of the narrator.

^^And yet/^ said the Frenchman, 'Hhere is so much
5 romance about the real Ufe of those beings, and about
the singular country they infest, that it is hard to tell
what to reject on the ground of improbability. I have
had an adventure happen to myself which gave me an
opportunity of getting some insight into their manners

lo and habits, which I found altogether out of the common
run of existence.''

There was an air of mingled frankness and modesty
about the Frenchman which had gained the good-will of
the whole party, not even excepting the Englishman.

15 They all eagerly inquired after the particulars of the cir-
cumstances he alluded to, and as they strolled slowly up
and down the sea-shore he related the following adventure. °

THE ADVENTURE OF THE ENGLISHMAN

In the morning all was bustle in the inn at Terracina.
The procaccio had departed at daybreak on its route
towards Rome, but the Englishman was yet to start,
and the departure of an English equipage is always
enough to keep an inn in a bustle. On this occasion 5
there was more than usual stir, for the Englishman, hav-
ing much property about him, and having been convinced
of the real danger of the road, had applied to the police,
and obtained, by dint of liberal pay, an escort of eight
dragoons^ and twelve foot-soldiers, as far as Fondi. 10

Perhaps, too, there might have been a little ostentation
at bottom, though to say the truth, he had nothing of it
in his manner. He moved about, taciturn and reserved
as usual, among the gaping crowd; gave laconic orders
to John, as he packed away the thousand and one indis- 15
pensable conveniences of the night; double loaded his
pistols with great sang-froid,^ and deposited them in the
pockets of the carriage — taking no notice of a pair of
keen eyes gazing on him from among the herd of loiter-
ing idlers. 20

The fair Venetian now came up with a request, made
in her dulcet tones, that he would permit their carriage
to proceed under protection of his escort. The English-
man, who was busy loading another pair of pistols for
his servant, and held the ramrod between his teeth 25

139

140 TALES OF A TRAVELLER

nodded assent, as a matter of course, but without lifting
up his eyes. The fair Venetian was a httle piqued at
what she supposed indifference: — ^^0 Dio!^^ ejaculated
she softly as she retired; " Quanta sono insensibili questi
5 Inglesi.''°

At length, off they set in gallant style. The eight
dragoons prancing in front, the twelve foot-soldiers
marching in rear, and the carriage moving slowly in the
centre, to enable the infantry to keep pace with them.

10 They had proceeded but a few hundred yards, when it
was discovered that some indispensable article had been
left behind. In fact, the Englishman's purse was missing,
and John was dispatched to the inn to search for it.
This occasioned a little delay, and the carriage of the

15 Venetians drove slowly on. John came back out of
breath and out of humor. The purse was not to be
found. His master was irritated; he recollected the
very place where it lay; he had not a doubt the Italian
servant had pocketed it. John was again sent back.

20 He returned once more without the purse, but with the
landlord and the whole household at his heels. A thou-
sand ejaculations and protestations, accompanied by all
sorts of grimaces and contortions — ^^No purse had been
seen — his Excellenza must be mistaken. '^

25 ^^No — his Excellenza was not mistaken — the purse
lay on the marble table, under the mirror, a green purse,
half full of gold and silver.'' Again a thousand grimaces
and contortions, and vows by San Gennaro, that no purse
of the kind had been seen.

30 The Englishman became furious. ^^The waiter had
pocketed it — the landlord was a knave — the inn a
den of thieves — it was a vile country — he had been
cheated and plundered from one end of it to the

THE ADVENTURE OF THE ENGLISHMAN 141

other — but he^d have satisfaction — he'd drive right
off to the poKce.^'

He was on the point of ordering the postiHons to turn
back, when, on rising, he displaced the cushion of the
carriage, and the purse of money fell clinking to the 5
floor.

All the blood in his body seemed to rush into his face.
'^ Curse the purse,'' said he, as he snatched it up. He
dashed a handful of money on the ground before the pale
cringing waiter, — ^^ There, be off!" cried he. ^^ John, 10
order the postilions to drive on."

About half an hour had been exhausted in this alter-
cation. The Venetian carriage had loitered along; its
passengers looking out from time to time, and expecting
the escort every moment to follow. They had gradually 15
turned an angle of the road that shut them out of sight.
The little army was again in motion, and made a very
picturesque appearance as it wound along at the bottom
of the rocks; the morning sunshine beaming upon the
weapons of the soldiery. 20

The Englishman lolled back in his carriage, vexed with
himself at what had passed, and consequently out of
humor with all the world. As this, however, is no un-
common case with gentlemen who travel for their pleas-
ure, it is hardly worthy of remark. They had wound up 25
from the coast among the hills, and came to a part of the
road that admitted of some prospect ahead.

^^I see nothing of the lady's carriage, sir," said John,
leaning down from the coach-box.

^^Pish!" said the Englishman, testily^; ^^ don't plague 30
me about the lady's carriage; must I be continually
pestered with the concerns of strangers?" John said not
another word, for he understood his master's mood.

142 TALES OF A TRAVELLER

The road grew more wild and gloomy; they were
slowly proceeding on° a foot-pace up a hill ; the dragoons
were some distance ahead, and had just reached the
summit of the hill, when they uttered an exclamation,
5 or rather shout, and galloped forward. The Englishman
was roused from his sulky reverie. He stretched his
head from the carriage, which had attained the brow of
the hill. Before him extended a long hollow defile, com-
manded on one side by rugged precipitous heights,

lo covered with bushes of scanty forest. At some distance
he beheld the carriage of the Venetians overturned. A
numerous gang of desperadoes^ were rifling it; the
young man and his servant were overpowered, and partly
stripped; and the lady was in the hands of two of the

15 ruffians. The Englishman seized his pistols, sprang from
the carriage, and called upon John to follow him.

In the meantime, as the dragoons came forward, the
robbers, who were busy with the carriage, quitted their
spoil, formed themselves in the middle of the road, and

20 taking a deliberate aim, fired. One of the dragoons fell,
another was wounded, and the whole were for a moment
checked and thrown into confusion. The robbers loaded
again in an instant. The dragoons discharged their
carbines, but without apparent effect. They received

25 another volley, which, though none fell, threw them again
into confusion. The robbers were loading a second time
when they saw the foot-soldiers at hand. '^ Scampa
via ! '^ ° was the word : they abandoned their prey, and
retreated up the rocks, the soldiers after them. They

30 fought from chff to cliff, and bush to bush, the robbers
turning every now and then to fire upon their pursuers;
the soldiers scrambling after them, and discharging their
muskets whenever they could get a chance. Sometimes a

THE ADVENTURE OF THE ENGLISHMAN 143

soldier or a robber was shot down, and came tumbling
among the cliffs. The dragoons kept firing from below,
whenever a robber came in sight.

The Englishman had hastened to the scene of action,
and the balls discharged at the dragoons had whistled 5
past him as he advanced. One object, however, en-
grossed his attention. It was the beautiful Venetian
lady in the hands of two of the robbers, who, during the
confusion of the fight, carried her shrieking up the moun-
tain. He saw her dress gleaming among the bushes, and 10
he sprang up the rocks to intercept the robbers, as they
bore off their prey. The ruggedness of the steep, and
the entanglement of the bushes, delayed and impeded
him. He lost sight of the lady, but was still guided by
her cries, which grew fainter and fainter. They were off 15
to the left, while the reports of muskets showed that the
battle was raging to the right. At length he came upon
what appeared to be a rugged foot-path, faintly worn in
a gulley° of the rocks, and beheld the ruffians at some
distance hurrying the lady up the defile. One of them 20
hearing his approach, let go his prey, advanced towards
him, and levelling the carbine which had been slung on
his back, fired. The ball whizzed through the English-
man's hat, and carried with it some of his hair. He re-
turned the fire with one of his pistols, and the robber 25
fell. The other brigand now dropped the lady, and
drawing a long pistol from his belt, fired on his adversary
with deliberate aim. The ball passed between his left
arm and his side, slightly wounding the arm. The Eng-
lishman advanced, and discharged his remaining pistol, 30
which wounded the robber, but not severely.

The brigand drew a stiletto and rushed upon his ad-
versary, who eluded the blow, receiving merely a slight

144 TALES OF A TRAVELLER

wound, and defended himself with his pistol, which had
a spring bayonet. They closed with one another, and a
. desperate struggle ensued. The robber was a square-
built, thickset man, powerful, muscular, and active. The
5 Englishman, though of larger frame and greater strength,
was less active, and less accustomed to athletic exercises
and feats of hardihood, but he showed himself practised
and skilled in the art of defence. They were on a craggy
height, and the Englishman perceived that his antagonist

lowas striving to press him to the edge. A side-glance
showed him also the robber whom he had first wounded,
scrambling up to the assistance of his comrade, stiletto
in hand. He had in fact attained the summit of the
cliff, he was within a few steps, and the Englishman felt

15 that his case was desperate, when he heard suddenly the

report of a pistol, and the ruffian fell. The shot came

from John, who had arrived just in time to save his

master.

The remaining robber, exhausted by loss of blood and

20 the violence of the contest, showed signs of faltering.
The Englishman pursued his advantage, pressed on him,
and as his strength relaxed, dashed him headlong from
the precipice. He looked after him, and saw him lying
motionless among the rocks below.

25 The Englishman now sought the fair Venetian. He
found her senseless on the ground. With his servant's
assistance he bore her down to the road, where her hus-
band was raving like one distracted. He had sought
her in vain, and had given her over for lost; and when

30 he beheld her thus brought back in safety, his joy was
equally wild and ungovernable. He would have caught
her insensible form to his bosom had not the Englishman
restrained him. The latter, now really aroused, displayed

THE ADVENTURE OF THE ENGLISHMAN 145

a true tenderness and manly gallantry, which one would
not have expected from his habitual phlegm. ° His kind-
ness, however, was practical, not wasted in words. He
dispatched John to the carriage for restoratives of all
kinds, and, totally thoughtless of himself, was anxious 5
only about his lovely charge. The occasional discharge
of firearms along the height showed that a retreating
fight was still kept up by the robbers. The lady gave
signs of reviving animation. The Englishman, eager to
get her from this place of danger, conveyed her to his 10
own carriage, and, committing her to the care of her
husband, ordered the dragoons to escort them to Fondi.
The Venetian would have insisted on the Englishman's
getting into the carriage; but the latter refused. He
poured forth a torrent of thanks and benedictions; but 15
the Englishman beckoned to the postilions to drive on.

John now dressed his master's wounds, which were
found not to be serious, though he was faint with loss of
blood. The Venetian carriage had been righted, and the
baggage replaced; and, getting into it, they set out on 20
their way towards Fondi, leaving the foot-soldiers still
engaged in ferreting out the banditti.

Before arriving at Fondi, the fair Venetian had com-
pletely recovered from her swoon. She made the usual
question, — 25

^^Wherewasshe?"

"In the Englishman's carriage."

"How had she escaped from the robbers?''

"The Englishman had rescued her.''

Her transports were unbounded ; and mingled with 30
them were enthusiastic ejaculations of gratitude to her
deliverer. A thousand times did she reproach herself for
having accused him of coldness and insensibility. The

146 TALES OF A TRAVELLER

moment she saw him, she rushed into his arms with the
vivacity of her nation, and hung about his neck in a
speechless transport of gratitude. Never was man more
embarrassed by the embraces of a fine woman.
5 '^ Tut ! — tut ! '' said the Enghshman.

"You are wounded !^^ shrieked the fair Venetian, as
she saw blood upon his clothes.

"Pooh! nothing at all!''

"My deliverer! my angel!'' exclaimed she, clasping
lo him again round the neck, and sobbing on his bosom.

" Pish ! " said the Englishman, with a good-humored
tone, but looking somewhat foolish, "this is all humbug."

The fair Venetian, however, has never since accused
the English of insensibility.

PART FOURTH

THE MONEY-DIGGERS

Found among the Papers of the Late
DiEDRicH Knickerbocker

Now I remember those old women^s words,
Who in my youth would tell me winter's tales :
And speak of sprites and ghosts that glide by night
About the place where treasure hath been hid.

— Marlow's Jew of Malta,

PART FOURTH
THE MONEY-DIGGERS °

HELL-GATE

About six miles from the renowned city of the Man-
hattoes,° in that Sound or arm of the sea which passes
between the mainland and Nassau, or Long Island, there
is a narrow strait, where the current is violently com-
pressed between shouldering promontories, and horribly 5
perplexed^ by rocks and shoals. Being, at the best of
times, a very violent, impetuous current, it takes these
impediments in mighty dudgeon; boiling in whirlpools;
brawling and fretting in ripples; raging and roaring in
rapids and breakers ; and, in short, indulging in all kinds 10
of wrong-headed paroxysms. At such times, woe to any
unlucky vessel that ventures within its clutches.

This termagant humor, however, prevails only at cer-
tain times of tide. At low-water, for instance, it is as
pacific a stream as you would wish to see; but as the 15
tide rises, it begins to fret; at half-tide it roars with
might and main, like a bull bellowing for more drink;
but when the tide is full, it relapses into quiet, and, for a
time, sleeps as soundly as an alderman after dinner. In
fact, it may be compared to a quarrelsome toper, who is 20
a peaceful fellow enough when he has no liquor at all,

149

150 TALES OF A TRAVELLER

or when he has a skinful! ; but who, when half-seas over,
plays the very devil.

This mighty, blustering, bullying, hard-drinking little
strait was a place of great danger and perplexity to the
5 Dutch navigators of ancient days ; hectoring their tub-
built barks in a most unruly style; whirling them about
in a manner to make any but a Dutchman giddy, and
not unfrequently stranding them upon rocks and reefs,
as it did the famous squadron of Oloffe the Dreamer, °

lo when seeking a place to found the city of the Manhattoes.
Whereupon, out of sheer spleen, they denominated it
Helle-gat, and solemnly gave it over to the devil. This
appellation has since been aptly rendered into English
by the name of Hell-gate, and into nonsense by the name

IS of Hurl-gSite, according to certain foreign intruders, who
neither understood Dutch nor English, — may St. Nicho-
las° confound them !

This strait of Hell-gate was a place of great awe and
perilous enterprise to me in my boyhood, having been

'20 much of a navigator on those small seas, and having
more than once run the risk of shipwreck and drowning
in the course of certain holiday voyages, to which, in com-
mon with other Dutch urchins, ° I was rather prone.
Indeed, partly from the name, and partly from various

25 strange circumstances connected with it, this place had
far more terrors in the eyes of my truant companions
and myself than had Scylla and Charybdis° for the navi-
gators of yore.

In the midst of this strait, and hard by a group of

30 rocks called the Hen and Chickens, there lay the wreck
of a vessel which had been entangled in the whirlpools
and stranded during a storm. There was a wild story told
to us of this being the wreck of a pirate, and some tale of

HELL -GATE 151

bloody murder, which I cannot now recollect, but which
made us regard it with great awe, and keep far from it in
our cruisings. Indeed, the desolate look of the forlorn
hulk, and the fearful place where it lay rotting, were
enough to awaken strange notions. A row of timber- 5
heads, blackened by time, just peered above the surface
at high- water ; but at low-tide a considerable part of the
hull was bare, and its great ribs or timbers, partly stripped
of their planks, and dripping with sea-weeds, looked like
the huge skeleton of some sea-monster. There was lo
also the stump of a mast, with a few ropes and blocks
swinging about and whistling in the wind, while the sea-
gull wheeled and screamed around the melancholy car-
cass. ° I have a faint recollection of some hobgoblin tale
of sailors^ ghosts being seen about this wreck at night, 15
with bare skulls, and blue lights in their sockets instead of
eyes, but I have forgotten all the particulars.

In fact, the whole of this neighborhood was like the
straits of Pelorus^ of yore, a region of fable and romance
to me. From the strait to the Manhattoes, the borders 20
of the Sound are greatly diversified, being broken and
indented by rocky nooks overhung with trees, which give
them a wild and romantic look. In the time of my boy-
hood, they abounded with traditions about pirates, ghosts,
smugglers, and buried money, which had a wonderful 25
effect upon the young minds of my companions and
myself.

As I grew to more mature years, I made diligent re-
search after the truth of these strange traditions; for I
have always been a curious investigator of the valuable 30
but obscure branches of the history of my native province.
I found infinite difficulty, however, in arriving at any precise
information. In seeking to dig up one fact, it is incredible

162 TALES OF A TRAVELLER

the number of fables that I unearthed. I will say nothing
of the deviFs stepping-stones, by which the arch-fiend
made his retreat from Connecticut to Long Island, across
the Sound; seeing the subject is likely to be learnedly
5 treated by a worthy friend and contemporary historian, °
whom I have furnished with particulars thereof.^ Neither
will I say any thing of the black man in a three-cornered
hat, seated in the stern of a jolly-boat, who used to be
seen about Hell-gate in stormy weather, and who went by

lothe name of the pirate ^s spuke (i.e.^ pirate^s ghost), and
whom, it is said, old Governor Stuyvesant once shot with
a silver bullet; because I never could meet with any
person of stanch credibility who professed to have seen
this spectrum, unless it were the widow of Manus Conklen,

15 the blacksmith, of Frogsneck° ; but then, poor woman,
she was a little purblind, ° and might have been mistaken;
though they say she saw farther than other folks in the
dark.

All this, however, was but little satisfactory in regard

20 to the tales of pirates and their buried money, about which
I was most curious ; and the following is all that I could,
for a long time, collect, that had any thing like an air of
authenticity. °

^ For a very interesting and authentic account of the devil
and his stepping-stones, see the valuable Memoir read before the
New York Historical Society, since the death of Mr. Knicker-
bocker, by his friend, an eminent jurist of the place.

KIDD° THE PIRATE

In old times, just after the territory of the New Nether-
lands had been wrested from the hands of their High
Mightinesses, the Lords States-General of Holland, by
King Charles the Second, and while it was as yet in an
unquiet state, the province was a great resort of random 5
adventurers, loose livers, and all that class of hap-hazard
fellows who live by their wits and dislike the old-fashioned
restraint of law and gospel. ° Among these, the foremost
were the buccaneers. These were rovers of the deep,
who perhaps in time of war had been educated in those 10
schools of piracy, the privateers°; but having once tasted
the sweets of plunder, had ever retained a hankering after
it. There is but a slight step from the privateersman
to the pirate ; both fight for the love of plunder ; only that
the latter is the bravest, as he dares both the enemy and 15
the gallows.

But in whatever school they had been taught, the
buccaneers ° that kept about the English colonies were
daring fellows, and made sad work in times of peace among
the Spanish settlements and Spanish merchantmen. The 20
easy access to the harbor of the Manhattoes, the number
of hiding-places about its waters, and the laxity of its
scarcely organized government, made it a great rendez-
vous of the pirates; where they might dispose of their
booty, and concert ° new depredations. As they brought 25

153

154 TALES OF A TRAVELLER

home with them wealthy lading of all kinds, the luxuries
of the tropics, and the sumptuous spoils of the Spanish
provinces, and disposed of them with the proverbial care-
lessness of free-booters,° they were welcome visitors to
5 the thrifty traders of the Manhattoes. Crews of these
desperadoes, therefore, the runagates of every country
and every clime, might be seen swaggering in open day
about the streets of the little burgh, elbowing its quiet
mynheers, trafficking away their rich outlandish plunder

lo at half or quarter price to the wary merchant, and then
squandering their prize-money in taverns, drinking,
gambling, singing, swearing, shouting, and astound-
ing the neighborhood with midnight brawl and ruffian
revelry.

15 At length these excesses rose to such a height as to be-
come a scandal to the provinces, and to call loudly for the
interposition of government. Measures were accordingly
taken to put a stop to the widely extended evil, and to
ferret this vermin brood out of the colonies.

20 Among the agents employed to execute this purpose was
the notorious Captain Kidd. He had long been an equivo-
cal character; one of those nondescript animals of the
ocean that are neither fish, flesh, nor fowl. He was
somewhat of a trader, something more of a smuggler, with

25 a considerable dash of the picaroon. He had traded for
many years among the pirates, in a little rakish, mos-
quito-built vessel, that could run into all kinds of waters.
He knew all their haunts and lurking-places, was always
hooking about on mysterious voyages, and was as busy

30 as a Mother Cary^s chicken^ in a storm.

This nondescript personage was pitched upon by govern-
ment as the very man to hunt the pirates by sea, upon the
good old maxim of ^^ setting a rogue to catch a rogue'';

KIDD THE PIRATE 155

or as otters are sometimes used to catch their cousins-
german, the fish.

Kidd accordingly sailed for New York in 1695, in a
gallant vessel called the Adventure Galley, well armed and
duly commissioned. On arriving at his old haunts, 5
however, he shipped his crew on new terms, enlisted a
number of his old comrades, lads of the knife and pistol,
and then set sail for the East. Instead of cruising against
the pirates, he turned pirate himself, steered to the Ma-
deiras, ° to Bona vista, ° and Madagascar, ° and cruised about 10
the entrance to the Red Sea. Here, among other mari-
time robberies, he captured a rich Quedah° merchantman,
manned by Moors, though commanded by an English-
man. Kidd would fain have passed this off for a worthy
exploit, as being a kind of crusade against the infidels; 15
but government had long since lost all relish for such
Christian triumphs.

After roaming the seas, trafficking his prizes, and chang-
ing from ship to ship, Kidd had the hardihood to return
to Boston, laden with booty, with a crew of swaggering 20
companions at his heels.

Times, however, were changed. The buccaneers could
no longer show a whisker in the colonies with impunity.
The new governor, Lord Bellamont, had signalized him-
self by his zeal in extirpating these offenders; and was 25
doubly exasperated against Kidd, having been instru-
mental in appointing him to the trust which he had be-
trayed. No sooner, therefore, did he show himself in
Boston, than the alarm was given of his reappearance,
and measures were taken to arrest this cutpurse° of the 30
ocean. The" daring character which Kidd had acquired,
however, and the desperate fellows who followed like
bull-dogs at his heels, caused a little delay in his arrest.

156 TALES OF A TRAVELLER

He took advantage of this, it is said, to bury the greater
part of his treasures, and then carried a high head about
the streets of Boston. He even attempted to defend him-
self when arrested, but was secured and thrown into
5 prison, with his followers. Such was the formidable
character of this pirate and his crew, that it was thought
advisable to dispatch a frigate to bring them to England.
Great exertions were made to screen^ him from justice,
but in vain ; he and his comrades were tried, condemned,

10 and hanged at Execution Dock in London. Kidd died
hard, for the rope with which he was first tied up broke
with his weight, and he tumbled to the ground. He was
tied up a second time, and more effectually ; hence came,
doubtless, the story of Kidd's having a charmed life and

15 that he had to be twice hanged.

Such is the main outline of Kidd's history; but it has
given birth to an innumerable progeny of traditions.
The report of his having buried great treasures of gold
and jewels before his arrest, set the brains of all the good

20 people along the coast in a ferment. There were rumors
on rumors of great sums of money found here and there,
sometimes in one part of the country, sometimes in another ;
of coins with Moorish inscriptions, doubtless the spoils of
his eastern prizes, but which the common people looked

25 upon with superstitious awe, regarding the Moorish letters
as diabolical or magical characters.

Some reported the treasure to have been buried in
sohtary, unsettled places, about Plymouth and Cape Cod ;
but by degrees various other parts, not only on the eastern

30 coast, but along the shores of the Sound, and even of Man-
hattan and Long Island, were gilded by these rumors.
In fact, the rigorous measures of Lord Bellamont spread
sudden consternation among the buccaneers in every part

KIDD TBE PIRATE 167

of the provinces : they secreted their money and jewels in
lonely out-of-the-way places, about the wild shores of the
rivers and sea-coast, and dispersed themselves over the
face of the country. The hand of justice prevented many
of them from ever returning to regain their buried treas- s
ures which remained, and remain probably to this day,
objects of enterprise for the money-digger.

This is the cause of those frequent reports of trees and
rocks bearing mysterious marks, supposed to indicate the
spots where treasures lay hidden; and many have been lo
the ransackings after the pirate's booty. In all the
stories which once abounded of these enterprises, the devil
played a conspicuous part. Either he was conciliated by
ceremonies and invocations, or some solemn compact was
made with him. Still he was ever prone to play the 15
money-diggers some slippery trick. Some would dig so
far as to come to an iron chest, when some baffling cir-
cumstance was sure to take place. Either the earth would
fall in and fill up the pit, or some direful noise or appari-
tion would frighten the party from the place ; sometimes 20
the devil himself would appear, and bear off the prize when
within their very grasp; and if they revisited the place
the next day, not a trace would be found of their labors
of the preceding night.

All these rumors, however, were extremely vague, 25
and for a long time tantalized, without gratifying, my
curiosity. There is nothing in this world so hard to get
at as truth, and there is nothing in this world but
truth ° that I care for. I sought among all my favorite
sources of authentic information, the oldest inhabit- 30
ants, and particularly the old Dutch wives of the
province ; but though I flatter myself that I am better
versed than most men in the curious history of my native

158 TALES OF A TRAVELLER

province, yet for a long time my inquiries were unat-
tended with any substantial result.

At length it happened that, one calm day in the latter
part of summer, I was relaxing myself from the toils of
5 severe study, by a day's amusement in fishing in those
waters which had been the favorite resort of my boyhood.
I was in company with several worthy burghers of my
native city, among whom were more than one illustrious
member of the corporation, whose names, did I dare to

lo mention them, would do honor to my humble page. Our
sport was indifferent. The fish did not bite freely, and
we frequently changed our fishing-ground without better-
ing our luck. We were at length anchored close under a
ledge of rocky coast, on the eastern side of the island of

15 Manhatta. It was a still, warm day. The stream whirled
and dimpled by us, without a wave or even a ripple;
and every thing was so calm and quiet, that it was almost
startling when the kingfisher would pitch himself from the
branch of some high tree, and after suspending himself

20 for a moment in the air, to take his aim, would souse into
the smooth water after his prey. While we were lolling
in our boat, half drowsy with the warm stillness of the
day, and the dullness of our sport, one of our party, a
worthy alderman, was overtaken by a slumber, and, as he

25 dozed, suffered the sinker of his drop-line to lie upon the
bottom of the river. On waking, he found he had caught
something of importance from the weight. On drawing
it to the surface, we were much surprised to find it a long
pistol of very curious and outlandish fashion, which, from

30 its rusted condition, and its stock being worm-eaten and
covered with barnacles, appeared to have lain a long time
under water. The unexpected appearance of this docu-
ment of warfare occasioned much speculation among my

KiDt) TUJEl PIRATE 169

pacific companions. One supposed it to have fallen there
during the revolutionary war ; another, from the peculiarity
of its fashion, attributed it to the voyages in the earliest
days of the settlement; perchance to the renowned
Adrian Block, ° who explored the Sound, and discovered 5
Block Island, since so noted for its cheese. But a third,
after regarding it for some time, pronounced it to be ol
veritable Spanish workmanship.

^^I'll warrant, '^ said he, ^^if this pistol could talk, it
would tell strange stories of hard fights among the Spanish lo
Dons.° IVe no doubt but it is a relic of the buccaneers
of old times, — who knows but it belonged to Kidd him-
self ?''

^^Ah! that Kidd was a resolute fellow,'' cried an iron-
faced Cape-Cod whaler. ° ^^ There's a fine old song about 15
him, all to the tune of —

" ^ My name is Captain Kidd,
As I sailed, as I sailed ; — '

and then it tells about how he gained the devil's good
graces by burying the Bible °: 20

" * I had the Bible in my hand,
As I sailed, as I sailed,
And I buried it in the sand,
As I sailed. — '

"Odsfish,° if I thought this pistol had belonged to Kidd, 25
I should set great store by it, for curiosity's sake."

WOLFERT WEBBER, OR GOLDEN DREAMS

In the year of grace one thousand seven hundred and
— blank — for I do not remember the precise date, —
however, it was somewhere in the early part of the last
century, there lived in the ancient city of the Manhattoes
5 a worthy burgher, Wolfert Webber by name. He was
descended from old Cobus Webber of the Brille in Holland,
one of the original settlers, famous for introducing the
cultivation of cabbages, and who came over to the prov-
ince during the protectorship of Oloffe Van Kortlandt,°

lo otherwise called the Dreamer.

The field in which Cobus Webber first planted himself
and his cabbages had remained ever since in the family,
who continued in the same line of husbandry, with that
praiseworthy perseverance for which our Dutch burghers

15 are noted. The whole family genius, ° during several
generations, was devoted to the study and development
of this one noble vegetable ; and to this concentration of
intellect may doubtless be ascribed the prodigious renown
to which the Webber cabbages attained.

20 The Webber dynasty^ continued in uninterrupted suc-
cession; and never did a line give more unquestionable
proofs of legitimacy. The eldest son succeeded to the
looks, as well as the territory of his sire; and had the
portraits of this line of tranquil potentates been taken, they

25 would have presented a row of heads marvellously resem-

160

WOLFERT WEBBER, OR GOLDEN DREAMS 161

bling in shape and magnitude the vegetables over which
they reigned.

The seat of government ° continued unchanged in the
family mansion: a Dutch-built house, with a front, or
rather gable-end of yellow brick, tapering to a point, 5
with the customary iron weathercock at the top. Every
thing about the building bore the air of long-settled ease
and security. Flights of martins ° peopled the little coops
nailed against its walls, and swallows built their nests
under the eaves ; and every one knows that these house- 10
loving birds bring good luck to the dwelling where they
take up their abode. In a bright summer morning, in
early summer, it was delectable to hear their cheerful
notes, as they sported about in the pure sweet air, chirping
forth, as it were, the greatness and prosperity of the 15
Webbers.

Thus quietly and comfortably did this excellent family
vegetate under the shade of a mighty buttonwood tree,
which by little and little grew so great as entirely to over-
shadow their palace. The city gradually spread its sub- 20
urbs round their domain. Houses sprang up to interrupt
their prospects. The rural lanes in the vicinity began to
grow into the bustle and populousness of streets ; in short,
with all the habits of rustic life they began to find them-
selves the inhabitants of a city. Still, however, they 25
maintained their hereditary character, and hereditary
possessions, with all the tenacity of petty German princes
in the midst of the empire. ° Wolfert was the last of the
line, and succeeded to the patriarchal bench at the door,°
under the family tree, and swayed the sceptre of his 30
fathers, a kind of rural potentate in the midst of the
metropolis.

To share the cares and sweets of sovereignty, he had

162 TALES OF A TRAVELLER

taken unto himself a helpmate, ° one of that excellent
kind called stirring women; that is to say, she was one
of those notable little housewives who are always busy
where there is nothing to do. Her activity, however, took
5 one particular direction : her whole life seemed devoted
to intense knitting; whether at home or abroad, walking
or sitting, her needles were continually in motion, and it
is even affirmed that by her unwearied industry she very
nearly supplied her household with stockings throughout
lothe year. This worthy couple were blessed with one
daughter, who was brought up with great tenderness and
care ; uncommon pains had been taken with her education,
so that she could stitch in every variety of way, make all
kinds of pickles and preserves, and mark her own name
15 on a sampler. ° The influence of her taste was seen also
in the family garden, where the ornamental began to mingle
with the useful ; whole rov/s of fiery marigolds and splendid
hollyhocks bordered the cabbage-beds, and gigantic sun-
flowers lolled their broad jolly faces over the fences, seem-
20 ing to ogle most affectionately the passer-by.

Thus reigned and vegetated Wolfert Webber over his
paternal acres, peacefully and contentedly. Not but
that, like all other sovereigns, he had his occasional cares
and vexations. The growth of his native city sometimes
25 caused him annoyance. His little territory gradually
became hemmed in by streets and houses, which inter-
cepted air and sunshine. He was now and then sub-
jected to the interruptions of the border population that
infest the streets of a metropolis, who would make mid-
30 night forays into his dominions, and carry off captive
whole platoons of his noble subjects. ° Vagrant swine
would make a descent, too, now and then, when the gate
was left open, and lay all waste before them; and mi^-

WOLFERT WEBBER, OR GOLDEN DREAMS 163

chievous urchins would decapitate the illustrious sun-
flowers, the glory of the garden, as they lolled their heads
so fondly over the walls. Still all these were petty griev-
ances which might now and then ruffle the surface of his
mind, as a summer breeze will ruffle the surface of a mill- 5
pond, but they could not disturb the deep-seated quiet
of his soul. He would but seize a trusty staff, that stood
behind the door, issue suddenly out, and anoint ° the
back of the aggressor, whether pig or urchin, and then
return within doors, marvellously refreshed and tran- 10
quillized.

The chief cause of anxiety^ to honest Wolfert, however,
was the growing prosperity of the city. The expenses of
living doubled and trebled ; but he could not double and
treble the magnitude of his cabbages, and the number of 15
competitors prevented the increase of price ; thus, there-
fore, while every one around him grew richer, Wolfert
grew poorer, and he could not, for the life of him, perceive
how the evil was to be remedied.

This growing care, which increased from day to day, 20
had its gradual effect upon our worthy burgher ; insomuch,
that it at length implanted two or three wrinkles in his
brow; things unknown before in the family of the Web-
bers ; and it seemed to pinch up° the corners of his cocked
hat into an expression of anxiety, totally opposite to the 25
tranquil, broad-brimmed, low-crowned beavers of his
illustrious progenitors.

Perhaps even this would not have materially disturbed
the serenity of his mind, had he had only himself and his
wife to care for; but there was his daughter gradually 30
growing to maturity ; and all the world knows that when
daughters begin to ripen, no fruit nor flower requires so
much looking after. I have no talent at describing

164 TALES OF A TRAVELLER

female charms, else fain would I depict the progress of this
little Dutch beauty. ° How her blue eyes grew deeper
and deeper, and her cherry lips redder and redder; and
how she ripened and ripened, and rounded and rounded
5 in the opening breath of sixteen summers, until, in her
seventeenth spring, she seemed ready to burst out of her
bodice, like a half-blown rosebud.

Ah, well-a-day ! could I but show her as she was then,
tricked out on a Sunday morning, in the hereditary

lo finery of the old Dutch clothes-press, of which her mother
had confided to her the key. The wedding-dress of her
grandmother, modernized for use, with sundry orna-
ments, handed down as heirlooms in the family. Her pale
brown hair smothered with buttermilk in flat waving lines

15 on each side of her fair forehead. The chain of yellow
virgin gold, that encircled her neck ; the little cross, that
just rested at the entrance of a soft valley of happiness,
as if it would sanctify the place. The — but, pooh ! —
it is not for an old man like me to be prosing about female

20 beauty ; suffice it to say. Amy had attained her seventeenth
year. Long since had her sampler exhibited hearts in
couples desperately transfixed with arrows, and true lovers'
knots worked in deep-blue silk; and it was evident she
began to languish for some more interesting occupation

25 than the rearing of sunflowers or picking of cucumbers.
At this critical period of female existence, when the
heart within a damseFs bosom, like its emblem, the minia-
ture which hangs without, is apt to be engrossed by a
single image, a new visitor began to make his appearance

30 under the roof of Wolfert Webber. This was Dirk
Waldron, the only son of a poor widow, but who could
boast of more fathers than any lad in the province, for
his mother had had four husbands, and this only child;

WOLFERT WEBBER, OR GOLDEN DREAMS 165

SO that though born in her last wedlock, he might fairly
claim to be the tardy fruit of a long course of cultivation.
This son of four fathers united the merits and the vigor of
all his sires. If he had not had a great family before him,
he seemed likely to have a great one after him, for you 5
had only to look at the fresh bucksome youth to see that
he was formed to be the founder of a mighty race.

This youngster gradually became an intimate visitor
of the family. He talked little, but he sat long. He filled
the father ^s pipe when it was empty, gathered up the 10
mother's knitting-needle, or ball of worsted when it fell to
the ground; stroked the sleek coat of the tortoise-shell
cat, and replenished the tea-pot for the daughter from the
bright copper kettle that sang before the fire. All these
quiet little offices may seem of trifling import ; but when 1 5
true love is translated into Low Dutch, ° it is in this way
that it eloquently expresses itself. They were not lost
upon the Webber family. The winning youngster found
marvellous favor in the eyes of the mother ; the tortoise-
shell cat, albeit the most staid and demure of her kind, 20
gave indubitable signs of approbation of his visits; the
tea-kettle seemed to sing out a cheering note of welcome
at his approach; and if the sly glances of the daughter
might be rightly read, as she sat bridling and dimpling,
and sewing by her mother's side, she was not a whit 25
behind Dame Webber, or grimalkin, ° or the tea-kettle,
in good- will.

Wolfert alone saw nothing of what was going on.
Profoundly wrapt up in meditation on the growth of the
city and his cabbages, he sat looking in the fire, and puffing 30
his pipe in silence. One night, however, as the gentle
Amy, according to custom, lighted her lover to the outer
door, and he, according to custom, took his parting salute,

166 TALES OF A TRAVELLER

the smack resounded so vigorously through the long,
silent entry, as to startle even the dull ear of Wolfert. He
was slowly roused to a new source of anxiety. It had
never entered into his head that this mere child, who,
5 as it seemed, but the other day had been climbing about
his knees, and playing with dolls and baby-houses, could
all at once be thinking of lovers and matrimony. He
rubbed his eyes, examined into the fact, and really found
that, while he had been dreaming of other matters, she

lo had actually grown to be a woman, and what was worse,
had fallen in love. Here arose new cares for Wolfert.
He was a kind father, but a prudent man. The young
man was a lively, stirring lad; but then he had neither
money nor land. Wolfert's ideas all ran in one channel;

15 and he saw no alternative in case of a marriage but to
portion off the young couple with a corner of his cabbage-
garden, the whole of which was barely sufficient for the
support of his family.

Like a prudent father, therefore, he determined to nip

20 this passion in the bud, and forbade the youngster the
house ; though sorely did it go against his fatherly heart,
and many a silent tear did it cause in the bright eye of his
daughter. She showed herself, however, a pattern of
filial piety and obedience. She never pouted and sulked ;

25 she never flew in the face of parental authority; she never
flew into a passion, nor fell into hysterics, as many roman-
tic novel-read young ladies would do. Not she, indeed !
She was none such heroical rebellious trumpery, I'll
warrant ye. On the contrary, she acquiesced like an

30 obedient daughter, shut the street-door in her lover's
face, and if ever she did grant him an interview, it was
either out of the kitchen-window^ or over the garden-
fence,

OR GOLDEN DREAMS 167

Wolfert was deeply cogitating these matters in his
mind, and his brow wrinkled with unusual care, as he
wended his way one Saturday afternoon to a rural inn,
about two miles from the city. It was a favorite resort
of the Dutch part of the community, from being always 5
held by a Dutch line of landlords, and retaining an air and
relish of the good old times. It was a Dutch-built house,
that had probably been a country seat of some opulent
burgher in the early time of the settlement. It stood
near a point of land called Corlaer's Hook, which stretches 10
out into the Sound, and against which the tide, at its
flux and reflux, sets with extraordinary rapidity. The
venerable and somewhat crazy mansion was distinguished
from afar by a grove of elms and sycamores that seemed
to wave a hospitable invitation, while a few weeping- 1 5
willows, with their dank, drooping foliage, resembling
falling waters, gave an idea of coolness, that rendered it an
attractive spot during the heats of summer.

Here, therefore, as I said, resorted many of the old
inhabitants of the Manhattoes, where, while some played 20
at shuffle-board° and quoits and ninepins, others smoked
a deliberate pipe, and talked over public affairs.

It was on a blustering autumnal afternoon that Wolfert
made his visit to the inn. The grove of elms and willows
was stripped of its leaves, which whirled in rustling eddies 25
about the fields. The ninepin alley was deserted, for the
premature chilliness of the day had driven the company
within doors. As it was Saturday afternoon, the habitual
club was in session, composed principally of regular
Dutch burghers, though mingled occasionally with per- 30
sons of various character and country, as is natural in a
place of such motley population.

Beside the fireplace, in a huge leather-bottomed arm-

168 TALES OF A TRAVELLER

chair, sat the dictator of this httle world, the venerable
Rem, or, as it was pronounced, Ramm Rapelye. He was
a man of Walloon^ race, and illustrious for the antiquity
of his line, his great-grandmother having been the first
5 white child born in the province. But he was still more
illustrious for his wealth and dignity; he had long filled
the noble office of alderman, and was a man to whom the
governor himself took off his hat. He had maintained
possession of the leather-bottomed chair from time im-

lo memorial ; and had gradually waxed in bulk as he sat
in his seat of government, until in the course of years he
filled its whole magnitude. His word was decisive with
his subjects; for he was so rich a man that he was never
expected to support any opinion by argument. The land-

15 lord waited on him with peculiar officiousness ; not that
he paid better than his neighbors, but then the coin of a
rich man seems always to be so much more acceptable.
The landlord had ever a pleasant word and a joke to in-
sinuate in the ear of the august Ramm.° It is true, Ramm

20 never laughed, and, indeed, ever maintained a mastiff-
like gravity, and even surliness of aspect ; yet he now and
then rewarded mine host with a token of approbation;
which, though nothing more nor less than a kind of grunt,
still delighted the landlord more than a broad laugh from

25 a poorer man.

"This will be a rough night for the money-diggers,''
said mine host, as a gust of wind howled round the house,
and rattled at the windows.

"What ! are they at their works again?'' said an Eng-

30 lish half-pay captain, with one eye, who was a very fre-> .
quent attendant at the inn. >

"Aye, are they," said the landlord, "and well they
may be. They've luck of late. They say a great pot of

WOLFERT WEBBER, OR GOLDEN DREAMS 169

money has been dug up in the fields, just behind Stuy-
vesant's orchard. Folks think it must have been buried
there in old times, by Peter Stuyvesant,° the Dutch gov-
ernor/'

^^ Fudge!'' said the one-eyed man of war, as he added 5
a small portion of water to a bottom of brandy. °

^^Well, you may believe it or not, as you please," said
mine host, somewhat nettled; ^^but everybody knows
that the old governor buried a great deal of his money at
the time of the Dutch troubles, when the English red- 10
coats seized on the province. They say, too, the old
gentleman walks°; aye, and in the very same dress that
he wears in the picture that hangs up in the family house."

''Fudge°!" said the half-pay officer.

^^ Fudge, if you please ! But didn't Corney Van Zandt 15
see him at midnight, stalking about in the meadow with
his wooden leg, and a drawn sword in his hand, that
flashed like fire? And what can he be walking for, but
because people have been troubling the place where he
buried his money in old times?" 20

Here the landlord was interrupted by several guttural
sounds from Ramm Rapelye, betokening that he was
laboring with the unusual production of an idea. As he
was too great a man to be slighted by a prudent publican,
mine host respectfully paused until he should deliver him- 25
self. The corpulent frame of this mighty burgher now
gave all the symptoms of a volcanic mountain on the
point of an eruption. First, there was a certain heaving
of the abdomen, not unlike an earthquake; then was
emitted a cloud of tobacco-smoke from that crater, his 30
mouth; then there was a kind of rattle in the throat, as
if the idea were working its way up through a region of
phlegm; then there were several disjointed menaber^ of

170 TALES OF A TRAVELLER

a sentence thrown out, ending in a cough; at length his
voice forced its way into a slow but absolute tone of a
man who feels the weight of his purse, if not of his ideas;
every portion of his speech being marked by a testy puff
5 of tobacco-smoke.

'^Who talks of old Peter Stuyvesant^s walking? —
puff — Have people no respect for persons ? — puff —
puff — Peter Stuyvesant knew better what to do with
his money than to bury it — puff — I know the Stuy-
lo vesant family — puff — every one of them — puff — not
a more respectable family in the province — puff — old
standards — puff — warm householders — puff — none
of your upstarts — puff — puff — puff. Don^t talk to me
of Peter Stuyvesant 's walking — puff — puff — puff —

15 puff/'

Here the redoubtable Ramm contracted his brow,
clasped up his mouth till it wrinkled at each corner, and
redoubled his smoking with such vehemence, that the
cloudy volumes soon wreathed round his head, as the

20 smoke envelops the awful summit of Mount iEtna.°

A general silence followed the sudden rebuke of this
very rich man.^ The subject, however, was too interest-
ing to be readily abandoned. The conversation soon
broke forth again from the lips of Peechy Prauw Van

25 Hook,° the chronicler of the club, one of those prosing,
narrative old men who seem to be troubled with an in-
continence of words, as they grow old.

Peechy could, at any time, tell as many stories in an
evening as his hearers could digest in a month. He now

30 resumed the conversation by affirming that, to his knowl-
edge, money had at different times been digged^ up in
various parts of the island. The lucky persons who had
discovered them had always dreamt of them three times

WOLFERT WEBBER, OR GOLDEN DREAMS 171

beforehand, and what was worthy of remark, those
treasures had never been found but by some descendant
of the good old Dutch famihes, which clearly proved that
they had been buried by Dutchmen in the olden time.

"Fiddlestick with your Dutchmen!^' cried the half- s
pay officer. '^The Dutch had nothing to do with them.
They were all buried by Kidd° the pirate, and his crew."

Here a key-note was touched that roused the whole
company. The name of Captain Kidd was like a talis-
man in those times, and was associated with a thousand lo
marvellous stories.

The half-pay officer took the lead, and in his narrations
fathered upon Kidd all the plunderings and exploits of
Morgan, ° Blackbeard, and the whole list of bloody buc-
caneers. 15

The officer was a man of great weight among the
peaceable members of the club, by reason of his warhke
character and gunpowder tales. ° All his golden stories
of Kidd, however, and of the booty he had buried, were
obstinately rivalled by the tales of Peechy Prauw, who, 20
rather than suffer his Dutch progenitors to be eclipsed
by a foreign freebooter, enriched every field and shore in
the neighborhood with the hidden wealth of Peter Stuy-
vesant and his contemporaries.

Not a word of this conversation was lost upon Wolfert 25
Webber. He returned pensively ° home, full of magnifi-
cent ideas. The soil of his native island seemed to be
turned into gold dust, and every field to teem with treas-
ure. His head almost reeled at the thought how often
he must have heedlessly rambled over places where count- 30
less sums lay, scarcely covered by the turf beneath his
feet. His mind was in an uproar with this whirl of new
ideas. As he came in sight of the venerable mansion of

172 TALES OF A TRAVELLER

his forefathers, and the httle realm where the Webbers
had so long and so contentedly flourished, his gorge rose
at the narrowness of his destiny.
^'Unlucky Wolfert!^' exclaimed he; '^ others can go to

5 bed and dream themselves into whole mines of wealth;
they have but to seize a spade in the morning and turn up
doubloons^ like potatoes ; but thou must dream of hard-
ships, and rise to poverty, — must dig thy field from year's
end to year's end, and yet raise nothing but cabbages ! ''

lo Wolfert Webber went to bed with a heavy heart;
and it was long before the golden visions that disturbed
his brain permitted him to sink into repose. The same
visions, however, extended into his sleeping thoughts,
and assumed a more definite form. He dreamt that he

1 5 had discovered an immense treasure in the centre of his
garden. At every stroke of the spade he laid bare a
golden ingot; diamond crosses sparkled out of the dust;
bags of money turned up their bellies, corpulent with
pieces-of -eight, ° or venerable doubloons; and chests,

2o wedged close with moidores,° ducats, ° and pistareens,
yawned before his ravished eyes, and vomited forth their
glittering contents.

Wolfert awoke a poorer man than ever. He had no
heart to go about his daily concerns, which appeared so

25 paltry and profitless ; but sat all day long in the chimney-
corner, picturing to himself ingots and heaps of gold in
the fire. The next night his dream was repeated. He
was again in his garden, digging, and laying open stores
of hidden wealth. There was something very singular in

30 this repetition. He passed another day of reverie, and
though it was cleaning-day, and the house, as usual in
Dutch households, completely topsy-turvy, yet he sat
unmoved amidst the general uproar.

WOLFERT WEBBER, OR GOLDEN BREAMS 173

The third night he went to bed with a palpitating
heart. He put on his red night-cap wrong side out-
wards, for good luck. It was deep midnight before his
anxious mind could settle itself into sleep. Again the
golden dream was repeated, and again he saw his garden 5
teeming with ingots and money-bags.

Wolfert rose the next morning in complete bewilder-
ment. A dream, three times repeated, was never known
to lie ; and if so, his fortune was made.

In his agitation he put on his waistcoat with the hind 10
part before, and this was a corroboration of good luck.°
He no longer doubted that a huge store of money lay
buried somewhere in his cabbage-field, coyly waiting to
be sought for; and he repined at having so long been
scratching about the surface of the soil instead of dig- 15
ging to the centre.

He took his seat at the breakfast-table full of these
speculations; asked his daughter to put a lump of gold
into his tea, and on handing his wife a plate of slap-
jacks, begged her to help herself to a doubloon. 20

His grand care now was how to secure this immense
treasure without its being known. Instead of his work-
ing regularly in his grounds in the daytime, he now stole
from his bed at night, and with spade and pickaxe went
to work to rip up and dig about his paternal acres, from 25
one end to the other. In a little time the whole garden,
which had presented such a goodly and regular appear-
ance, with its phalanx of cabbages, like a vegetable army
in battle array, was reduced to a scene of devastation;
while the relentless Wolfert, with night-cap on head, and 2>'^
lantern and spade in hand, stalked through the slaughtered
ranks, the destroying angel of his own vegetable world.

Every morning bore testimony to the ravages of the

174 TALES OF A TRAVELLER

preceding night in cabbages of all ages and conditions,
from the tender sprout to the full-grown head, piteously
rooted from their quiet beds like worthless weeds, and
left to wither in the sunshine. In vain Wolfert^s wife
5 remonstrated ; in vain his darling daughter wept over
the destruction of some favorite marigold. ^'Thou shalt
have gold of another guess sort,'^° he would cry, chuck-
ing her under the chin; ^Hhou shalt have a string of
crooked ducats for thy wedding necklace, my child.''

loHis family began really to fear that the poor man's wits
were diseased. He muttered in his sleep at night about
mines of wealth, about pearls and diamonds, and bars of
gold. In the daytime he was moody and abstracted, and
walked about as if in a trance. Dame Webber held fre-

15 quent councils with all the old women of the neighbor-
hood; scarce an hour in the day but a knot of them
might be seen wagging their white caps together round
her door, while the poor woman made some piteous
recital. The daughter, too, was fain to seek for more

20 frequent consolation from the stolen interviews of her
favored swain. Dirk Waldron. The delectable little Dutch
songs, with which she used to dulcify the house, grew less
and less frequent, and she would forget her sewing, and
look wistfully in her father's face as he sat pondering by

25 the fireside. Wolfert caught her eye one day fixed on
him thus anxiously, and for a moment was roused from
his golden reveries. ^^ Cheer up, my girl," said he, ex-
ultingly; ''why dost thou droop? — thou shalt hold up
thy head one day with the Brinckerhoffs, and the Scher-

30 merhorns, the Van Homes, and the Van Dams. By
St. Nicholas, but the patroon himself shall be glad to
get thee for his son ! "

Amy shook her head at his vainglorious boast, and

WOLFERT WEBBER, OR GOLDEN DREAMS 175

was more than ever in doubt of the soundness of the
good man's intellect.

In the meantime Wolfert went on digging and dig-
ging; but the field was extensive, and as his dream had
indicated no precise spot, he had to dig at random. The 5
winter set in before one-tenth of the scene of promise
had been explored.

The ground became frozen hard, and the nights too
cold for the labors of the spade.

No sooner, however, did the returning warmth of 10
spring loosen the soil, and the small frogs begin to pipe
in the meadows, but Wolfert resumed his labors with
renovated zeal. Still, however, the hours of industry were
reversed.

Instead of working cheerily all day, planting and setting 15
out his vegetables, he remained thoughtfully idle, until
the shades of night summoned him to his secret labors.
In this way he continued to dig from night to night,
and week to week, and month to month, but not a stiver °
did he find. On the contrary, the more he digged, the 20
poorer he grew. The rich soil of his garden was digged
away, and the sand and gravel from beneath were thrown
to the surface, until the whole field presented an aspect
of sandy barrenness.

In the meantime the seasons gradually rolled on. The 25
little frogs which had piped in the meadows in early
spring croaked as bull-frogs during the summer heats, and
then sank into silence. The peach-tree budded, blossomed,
and bore its fruit. The swallows and martins came,
twitted about the roof, built their nests, reared their young, 30
held their congress along the eaves, and then winged their
flight in search of another spring. The caterpillar spun
its winding-sheet, dangled in it from the great button-

176 TALES OF A TRAVELLER

wood tree before the house ; turned into a moth, fluttered
with the last sunshine of summer, and disappeared; and
finally the leaves of the buttonwood tree turned yellow,
then brown, then rustled one by one to the ground, and
5 whirhng about in little eddies of wind and dust, whispered
that winter was at hand.

Wolfert gradually woke from his dream of wealth as
the year declined. He had reared no crop for the supply
of his household during the sterility of winter. The

lo season was long and severe, and for the first time the
family was really straitened in its comforts. By degrees
a revulsion of thought took place in Wolfert ^s mind,
common to those whose golden dreams have been dis-
turbed by pinching realities. The idea gradually stole

15 upon him that he should come to want. He already con-
sidered himself one of the most unfortunate men in the
province, having lost such an incalculable amount of
undiscovered treasure, and now, when thousands of
pounds had eluded his search, to be perplexed for shillings

20 and pence, was cruel in the extreme.

Haggard care gathered about his brow ; he went about
with a money-seeking air, his eyes bent downward into
the dust, and carrying his hands in his pockets, as men are
apt to do when they have nothing else to put into them.

25 He could not even pass the city almshouse without giving
it a rueful glance, as if destined to be his future abode.
The strangeness of his conduct and of his looks oc-
casioned much speculation and remark. For a long time
he was suspected of being crazy, and then every body

30 pitied him; and at length it began to be suspected that
he was poor, and then every body avoided him.

The rich old burghers of his acquaintance met him
outside of the door when he called, entertained him hos-

WOLFERT WEBBER, OR GOLDEN DREAMS 111

pitably on the threshold, pressed him warmly by the hand
at parting, shook their heads as he walked away, with the
kind-hearted expression of ^^poor Wolfert,^^ and turned a
corner nimbly if by chance they saw him approaching as
they walked the streets. Even the barber and the cob- 5
bier of the neighborhood, and a tattered tailor in an alley
hard by, three of the poorest and merriest rogues in the
world, eyed him with that abundant sympathy^ which
usually attends a lack of means ; and there is not a doubt
but their pockets would have been at his command only 10
that they happened to be empty.

Thus every body deserted the Webber mansion, as if
poverty were contagious, like the plague; every body
but honest Dirk Waldron, who still kept up his stolen
visits to the daughter, and indeed seemed to wax more 15
affectionate as the fortunes of his mistress were in the
wane.

Many months had elapsed since Wolfert had frequented
his old resort, the rural inn. He was taking a long lonely
walk one Saturday afternoon, musing over his wants and 20
disappointments, when his feet took instinctively their
wonted direction, and on awaking out of a reverie, he
found himself before the door of the inn. For some
moments he hesitated whether to enter, but his heart
yearned for companionship ; and where can a ruined man 25
find better companionship than at a tavern, where there
is neither sober example nor sober advice to put him out of
countenance ?

Wolfert found several of the old frequenters of the inn
at their usual posts, and seated in their usual places ; but 30
one was missing — the great Ramm Rapelye, who for
many years had filled the leather-bottomed chair of state.
His place was supplied by a stranger, who seemed, however,

178 TALES OF A TRAVELLER

to be completely at home in the chair and the tavern.
He was rather under size, but deep-chested, square, and
muscular. His broad shoulders, double joints, and bow-
knees, gave tokens of prodigious strength. His face was
5 dark and weatherbeaten ; a deep scar, as if from the
slash of a cutlass, had almost divided his nose, and made
a gash in his upper lip, through which his teeth shone like
a bull-dog ^s. A mop of iron-gray hair gave a grizzly finish
to this hard-favored visage. His dress was of an am-

iophibious° character. He wore an old hat edged with
tarnished lace, and cocked in martial style, on one side of
his head; a rusty blue military coat with brass buttons,
and a wide pair of short petticoat trousers, or rather
breeches, for they were gathered up at the knees. He

15 ordered every body about him with an authoritative air,
talking in a brattling voice, that sounded like the crack-
ling of thorns under a pot ; d d the landlord and ser-
vants with perfect impunity, and was waited upon with
greater obsequiousness than had ever been shown to the

20 mighty Ramm himself.

Wolfert^s curiosity was awakened to know who and
what was this stranger, who had thus usurped absolute
sway in this ancient domain. Peechy Prauw took him
aside, into a remote corner of the hall, and there, in an

25 under voice, and with great caution, imparted to him all
that he knew on the subject. The inn had been aroused
several months before, on a dark, stormy night, by re-
peated long shouts, that seemed like the howling of a
wolf. They came from the water-side, and at length were

30 distinguished to be hailing the house in the seafaring
manner, ^^House-a-hoy !'' The landlord turned out with
his head-waiter, tapster, hostler, and errand-boy, — that
is to say, with his old negro Cuff. On approaching the

WOLFERT WEBBER, OR GOLDEN DREAMS 179

place whence the voice proceeded, they found this am-
phibious-looking personage at the water's edge, quite
alone, and seated on a great oaken sea-chest. How he
came there, whether he had been set on shore from some
boat, or had floated to land on his chest, nobody could tell, 5
for he did not seem disposed to answer questions; and
there was something in his looks and manners that put a
stop to all questioning. Suffice it to say, he took pos-
session of a corner-room of the inn, to which his chest was
removed with great difficulty. Here he had remained 10
ever since, keeping about the inn and its vicinity. Some-
times, it is true, he disappeared for one, two, or three days
at a time, going and returning without giving any notice
or account of his movements. He always appeared to
have plenty of money, though often of very strange, out- 15
landish coinage; and he regularly paid his bill every
evening before turning in.

He had fitted up his room to his own fancy, having
slung a hammock from the ceiling instead of a bed, and
decorated the walls with rusty pistols and cutlasses of 20
foreign workmanship. A greater part of his time was
passed in this room, seated by the window, which com-
manded a wide view of the Sound, a short old-fash-
ioned pipe in his mouth, a glass of rum-toddy
at his elbow, and a pocket-telescope in his hand, with 25
which he reconnoitred every boat that moved upon the
water. Large square-rigged vessels seemed to excite but
little attention ; but the moment he descried any thing
with a shoulder-of-mutton sail, or that a barge, or yawl,
or jolly-boat hove in sight, up went the telescope, and he 30
examined it with the most scrupulous attention.

All this might have passed without much notice, for in
those times the province was so much the resort of adven-

180 TALES OF A TRAVELLER

turers of all characters and climes, that any oddity in dress
or behavior attracted but small attention. In a little
while, however, this strange sea-monster, thus strangely
cast upon dry land, began to encroach upon the long-
5 established customs and customers of the place, and to
interfere in a dictatorial manner in the affairs of the ninepin
alley and the bar-room, until in the end he usurped an
absolute command over the whole inn. It was all in vain
to attempt to withstand his authority. He was not

lo exactly quarrelsome, but boisterous and peremptory, like
one accustomed to tyrannize on a quarter-deck ; and there
was a dare-devil air about every thing he said and did, that
inspired wariness in all by-standers. Even the half -pay
officer, so long the hero of the club, was soon silenced by

15 him ; and the quiet burghers stared with wonder at seeing
their inflammable man of war so readily and quietly ex-
tinguished.

And then the tales that he would tell were enough to
make a peaceable man^s hair stand on end. There was

20 not a sea-fight, nor marauding nor freebooting adventure
that had happened within the last twenty years, but he
seemed perfectly versed in it. He delighted to talk of the
exploits of the buccaneers in the West Indies, and on
the Spanish Main. How his eyes would glisten as he

25 described the way-laying of treasureships, the desperate
fights, yard-arm and yard-arm — broadside and broad-
side — the boarding and capturing huge Spanish gal-
leons ! With what chuckling relish would he describe
the descent upon some rich Spanish colony ; the rifling of
30 a church ; the sacking of a convent ! You would have
thought you heard some gormandizer dilating upon the
roasting of a savory goose at Michaelmas as he described
the roasting of some Spanish Don° to m3.ke him discover

OR GOLDEN DREAMS 181

his treasure — a detail given with a minuteness that made
every rich old burgher present turn uncomfortably in his
chair. All this would be told with infinite glee, as if he
considered it an excellent joke; and then he w^ould give
such a tyrannical leer in the face of his next neighbor, that 5
the poor man would be fain to laugh out of sheer faint-
heartedness. If any one, however, pretended to con-
tradict him in any of his stories, he was on fire in an
instant. His very cocked hat assumed a momentary
fierceness, and seemed to resent the contradiction. ^^ How 10
the devil should you know as well as I ? — I tell you it was
as I say ; '' and he would at the same time let slip a broad-
side of thundering oaths and tremendous sea-phrases,
such as had never been heard before within these peaceful
walls. 15

Indeed, the worthy burghers began to surmise that he
knew more of those stories than mere hearsay. Day after
day their conjectures concerning him grew more and
more wild and fearful. The strangeness of his arrival,
the strangeness of his manners, the mystery that sur- 20
rounded him, all made him something incomprehensible
in their eyes. He was a kind of monster of the deep to
them — he was a merman — he was a behemoth — he
was a leviathan, ° — in short, they knew not what he was.

The domineering spirit of this boisterous sea-urchin at 25
length grew quite intolerable. He was no respecter of
persons; he contradicted the richest burghers without
hesitation; he took possession of the sacred elbow-chair,
which, time out of mind, had been the seat of sovereignty
of the illustrious Ramm Rapelye. Nay, he even went so 30
far, in one of his rough jocular moods, as to slap that
mighty burgher on the back, drink his toddy, and wink
in his face, a thing scarcely to be believed. From this

182 TALES OF A TRAVELLER

time Ramm Rapelye appeared no more at the inn; his
example was followed by several of the most eminent
customers, who were too rich to tolerate being bullied out
of their opinions, or being obliged to laugh at another
5 man^s jokes. The landlord was almost in despair; but he
knew not how to get rid of this sea-monster and his sea-
chest, who seemed both to have grown like fixtures, or
excrescences, on his establishment.

Such was the account whispered cautiously in Wolfert^s

lo ear, by the narrator, Peechy Prauw, as he held him by the
button in a corner of the hall, casting a wary glance now
and then towards the door of the bar-room, lest he should
be overheard by the terrible hero of his tale.

Wolfert took his seat in a remote part of the room in

1 5 silence ; impressed with profound awe of this unknown,
so versed in freebooting history. It was to him a wonder-
ful instance of the revolutions of mighty empires, to find
the venerable Ramm Rapelye thus ousted from the throne,
and a rugged tarpauling^ dictating from his elbow-chair,

2o hectoring the patriarchs, and filling this tranquil little
realm with brawl and bravado.

The stranger was on this evening in a more than usually
communicative mood, and was narrating a number of
astounding stories of plunderings and burnings on the

25 high seas. He dwelt upon them with peculiar relish,
heightening the frightful particulars in proportion to
their effect on his peaceful auditors. He gave a swagger-
ing detail cf the capture of a Spanish merchantman. She
was lying becalmed during a long summer ^s day, just off

30 from an island, which was one of the lurking-places of
the pirates. They had reconnoitred her with their spy-
glasses from the shore, and ascertained her character and
force. At night a picked crew of daring fellows set off

WOLFERT WEBBER, OR GOLDEN DREAMS 183

for her in a whale-boat. They approached with muffled
oarS; as she lay rocking idly with the undulations of the
sea^ and her sails flapping against the masts. They were
close under the stern before the guard on deck was aware
of their approach. The alarm was given ; the pirates 5
threw hand-grenades ° on deck^ and sprang up the main
chains, sword in hand.

The crew flew to arms, but in great confusion; some
were shot down, others took refuge in the tops; others
were driven overboard and drowned ; while others fought 10
hand to hand from the main-deck to the quarter-deck,
disputing gallantly every inch of ground. There were
three Spanish gentlemen on board with their ladies, who
made the most desperate resistance. They defended the
companion-way, cut down several of their assailants, and 15
fought like very devils, for they were maddened by the
shrieks of the ladies from the cabin. One of the Dons was
old, and soon dispatched. The other two kept their
ground vigorously, even though the captain of the pirates
was among their assailants. Just then there was a shout 20
of victory from the main-deck. ^^The ship is ours!''
cried the pirates.

One of the Dons immediately dropped his sword and
surrendered ; the other, who was a hot-headed youngster,
and just married, gave the captain a slash in the face that 25
laid all open. The captain just made out to articulate the
words ^^no quarter.''

^^And what did they do with their prisoners?" said
Peechy Prauw, eagerly.

^^ Threw them all overboard," was the answer. A 30
dead pause followed the reply. Peechy Prauw sunk
quietly back, like a man who had unwarily stole upon the
lair of a sleeping lion. The honest burghers cast fearful

184 TALES OF A TRAVELLER

glances at the deep scar slashed across the visage of the
stranger, and moved their chairs a little farther off. The
seaman, however, smoked on without moving a muscle,
as though he either did not perceive or did not regard the
5 unfavorable effect he had produced upon his hearers.
The half-pay officer was the first to break the silence,
for he was continually tempted to make ineffectual head
against this tyrant of the seas, and to regain his lost con-
sequence in the eyes of his ancient companions. He now

lo tried to match the gunpowder tales of the stranger by
others equally tremendous. Kidd, as usual, was his hero,
concerning whom he seemed to have picked up many of
the floating traditions of the province. The seaman had
always evinced a settled pique against the one-eyed war-

isrior. On this occasion he listened with pecuhar im-
patience. He sat with one arm akimbo, the other elbow
on the table, the hand holding on to the small pipe he was
pettishly puffing; his legs crossed; drumming with one
foot on the ground, and casting every now and then the

20 side-glance of a basilisk^ at the prosing captain. At
length the latter spoke of Kidd^s having ascended the
Hudson with some of his crew, to land his plunder in
secrecy.

"Kidd up the Hudson!'^ burst forth the seaman, with

25 a tremendous oath, — " Kidd never was up the Hudson ! ^'

"I tell you he was,^' said the other. "Aye, and they

say he buried a quantity of treasure on the little flat

that runs out into the river, called the -DeviFs Dans

Kammer.''

30 " The DeviPs Dans Kammer in your teeth ! ^' cried the
seaman. "I tell you Kidd never was up the Hudson.
What a plague do you know of Kidd and his haunts ? ''
"What do I know?'' echoed the half -pay officer.

WOLFERT WEBBER, OR GOLDEN DREAMS 185

" Why, I was in London at the time of his trial ; aye, and
I had the pleasure of seeing him hanged at Execution
Dock/^

^^Then, sir, let me tell you that you saw as pretty a
fellow hanged as ever trod shoe-leather. Aye ! ^^ putting 5
his face nearer to that of the officer, "and there was many
a land-lubber looked on that might much better have
swung in his stead/'

The half-pay officer was silenced, but the indignation
thus pent up in his bosom glowed with intense vehemence 10
in his single eye, which kindled like a coal.

Peechy Prauw, who never could remain silent, observed
that the gentleman certainly was in the right. Kidd
never did bury money up the Hudson, nor indeed in any
of those parts, though many affirmed such to be the 15
fact. It was Braddish and others of the buccaneers who
had buried money; some said in Turtle Bay, others on
Long Island, others in the neighborhood of Hell-gate.
" Indeed, '' added he, "I recollect an adventure of Sam,
the negro fisherman, many years ago, which some think 20
had something to do with the buccaneers. As we are all
friends here, and as it will go no further, V\\ tell it to
you.

"Upon a dark night many years ago, as Black Sam was
returning from fishing in Hell-gate ^' 25

Here the story was nipped in the bud by a sudden
movement from the unknown, who, laying his iron fist
on the table, knuckles downward, with a quiet force that
indented the very boards, and looking grimly over his
shoulder, with the grin of an angry bear, — "Heark'ee, 30
neighbor, '^ said he, with significant nodding of the head,
" you^d better let the buccaneers and their money alone, —
they're not for old men and old women to meddle with.

186 TALES OF A TRAVELLER

They fought hard for their money; they gave body and
soul for it; and wherever it hes buried, depend upon it
he must have a tug with the devil who gets it ! "

This sudden explosion was succeeded by a blank silence
5 throughout the room. Peechy Prauw shrunk within him-
self, and even the one-eyed officer turned pale. Wolfert,
who from a dark corner of the room had listened with
intense eagerness to all this talk about buried treasure,
looked with mingled awe and reverence at this' bold buc-

lo caneer, for such he really suspected him to be. There was
a chinking of gold and a sparkling of jewels in all his
stories about the Spanish Main° that gave a value to
every period; and Wolfert would have given any thing
for the rummaging of the ponderous sea-chest, which his

15 imagination crammed full of golden chalices, crucifixes, °
and jolly round bags of doubloons.

The dead stillness that had fallen upon the company
was at length interrupted by the stranger, who pulled out
a prodigious watch of curious and ancient workmanship,

20 and which in Wolfert's eyes had a decidedly Spanish look.
On touching a spring it struck ten o'clock, upon which
the sailor called for his reckoning, and having paid it out
of a handful of outlandish coin, he drank off the remainder
of his beverage, and without taking leave of any one,

25 rolled out of the room, muttering to himself, as he stamped
up stairs to his chamber.

It was some time before the company could recover
from the silence into which they had been thrown. The
very footsteps of the stranger, which were heard now and

30 then as he traversed his chamber, inspired awe.

Still the conversation in which they had been engaged
was too interesting not to be resumed. A heavy thunder-
gust had gathered up unnoticed while they were lost in

WOLFERT WEBBER, OR GOLDEN DREAMS 187

talk, and the torrents of rain that fell forbade all thoughts
of setting off for home until the storm should subside.
They drew nearer together, therefore, and entreated the
worthy Peechy Prauw to continue the tale which had been
so discourteously interrupted. He readily complied, whis- 5
pering, however, in a tone scarcely above his breath,
and drowned occasionally by the roUing of the thunder;
and he would pause every now and then, and listen with
evident awe, as he heard the heavy footsteps of the stranger
pacing overhead. 10

The following is the purport of his story.

THE ADVENTURE OF THE BLACK FISHERMAN

Every body knows Black Sam, the old negro fisherman,
or, as he is commonly called. Mud Sam, who had fished
about the Sound for the last half century. It is now
many years since Sam, who was then as active a young 15
negro as any in the province, and worked on the farm of
Killian Suydam on Long Island, having finished his day^s
work at an early hour, was fishing, one still summer even-
ing, just about the neighborhood of Hell-gate.

He was in a light skiff, and being well acquainted with 20
the currents and eddies, had shifted his station according
to the shifting of the tide, from the Hen and Chickens to
the Hog's Back, from the Hog's Back to the Pot, and from
the Pot to the Frying-Pan°; but in the eagerness of his
sport he did not see that the tide was rapidly ebbing, 25
until the roaring of the whirlpools and eddies warned him
of his danger ; and he had some difficulty in shooting his
skiff from among the rocks and breakers, and getting to
the point of BlackwelFs Island. ° Here he cast anchor for

188 TALES OF A TRAVELLER

some time, waiting the turn of the tide to enable him to
return homewards. As the night set in, it grew blustering
and gusty. Dark clouds came bundling up in the west,
and now and then a growl of thunder or a flash of light-
5 ning told that a summer storm was at hand. Sam pulled
over, therefore, under the lee of Manhattan Island, and
coasting along, came to a snag nook,° just under a steep
beetling rock, where he fastened his skiff to the root of a
tree that shot out from a cleft, and spread its broad

lo branches like a canopy over the water. The gust came
scouring along; the wind threw up the river in white
surges; the rain rattled among the leaves; the thunder
bellowed worse than that which is now bellowing; the
lightning seemed to lick up the surges of the stream; but

15 Sam, snugly sheltered under rock and tree, lay crouching
in his skiff, rocking upon the billows until he fell asleep.
When he woke all was quiet. The gust had passed away,
and only nov/ and then a faint gleam of lightning in the
east showed which way it had gone. The night was dark

20 and moonless, and from the state of the tide Sam con-
cluded it was near midnight. He was on the point of
making loose his skiff to return homewards, when he saw
a light gleaming along the water from a distance, which
seemed rapidly approaching. As it drew near he per-

25 ceived it came from a lantern in the bow of a boat gliding
along under shadow of the land. It pulled up in a small
cove, close to where he was. A man jumped on the shore,
and searching about with the lantern, exclaimed: ^^This
is the place — here^s the iron ring.^^ The boat was then

30 made fast, and the man returning on board, assisted his
comrades in conveying something heavy on shore. As
the light gleamed among them, Sam saw that they were
five stout, desperate-looking fellows, in red woollen caps.

WOLFERT WEBBER, OR GOLDEN DREAMS 189

with a leader in a three-cornered hat, and that some of
them were armed with dirks, or long knives, and pistols.
They talked low to one another, and occasionally in some
outlandish tongue which he could not understand.

On landing they made their way among the bushes, 5
taking turns to relieve each other in lugging their burden
up the rocky bank. Sam^s curiosity was now fully aroused ;
so leaving his skiff he clambered silently up a ridge that
overlooked their path. They had stopped to rest for a
moment, and the leader was looking about among the 10
bushes with his lantern. '^ Have you brought the spades ? ^'
said one. '^ They are here,'' replied another, who had them
on his shoulder. ^^We must dig deep, where there will
be no risk of discovery,'' said a third.

A cold chill ran through Sam's veins. He fancied he 15
saw before him a gang of murderers, about to bury their
victim. His knees smote together. In his agitation he
shook the branch of a tree with which he was supporting
himself as he looked over the edge of the cliff.

^^ What's that?" cried one of the gang. "Some one 20
stirs among the bushes ! "

The lantern was held up in the direction of the noise.
One of the red-caps cocked a pistol, and pointed it towards
the very place where Sam was standing. He stood
motionless — breathless; expecting the next moment to 25
be his last. Fortunately his dingy complexion was in his
favor, and made no glare among the leaves.

"'Tis no one," said the man with the lantern. "What
a plague ! you would not fire off your pistol and alarm the
country ! " 30

The pistol was uncocked; the burden was resumed,
and the party slowly toiled along the bank. Sam watched
them as they went; the light sending back fitful gleams

190 TALES OF A TRAVELLeU

through the dripping bushes, and it was not till they were
fairly out of sight that he ventured to draw breath freely.
He now thought of getting back to his boat, and making
his escape out of the reach of such dangerous neighbors;
5 but curiosity was all-powerful. He hesitated and lingered
and listened. By and by he heard the strokes of spades.
^'They are digging the grave!" said he to himself; and
the cold sweat started upon his forehead. Every stroke
of a spade, as it sounded through the silent groves, went

lo to his heart ; it was evident there was as little noise made
as possible; every thing had an air of terrible mystery
and secrecy. Sam had a great relish for the horrible, —
a tale of murder was a treat for him; and he was a con-
stant attendant at executions. He could not resist an

15 impulse, in spite of every danger, to steal nearer to the
scenes of mystery, and overlook the midnight fellows
at their work. He crawled along cautiously, therefore,
inch by inch; stepping with the utmost care among the
dry leaves, lest their rustling should betray him. He

20 came at length to where a steep rock intervened between
him and the gang; for he saw the light of their lantern
shining up against the branches of the trees on the other
side. Sam slowly and silently clambered up the sur-
face of the rock, and raising his head above its naked edge,

25 beheld the villains immediately below him, and so near,
that though he dreaded discovery, he dared not withdraw
lest the least movement should be heard. In this way
he remained, with his round black face peering above
the edge of the rock, like the sun just emerging above the

30 edge of the horizon, or the round-cheeked moon on the
dial of a clock.

The red-caps had nearly finished their work ; the grave
was filled up, and they were carefully replacing the turf.

WOLFEBT WEBBER, OR GOLDEN DREAMS 191

This done, they scattered dry leaves over the place.
^^And now/' said the leader, ^^I defy the devil himself to
find it out/'

'^The murderers!'' exclaimed Sam, involuntarily.

The whole gang started, and looking up, beheld the 5
round black head of Sam just above them. His white
eyes strained half out of their orbits; his white teeth
chattering, and his whole visage shining with cold per-
spiration.

^^ We're discovered!" cried one. 10

" Down with him ! " cried another.

Sam heard the cocking of a pistol, but did not pause
for the report. He scrambled over rock and stone,
through brush and brier ; rolled down banks like a hedge-
hog; scrambled up others like a catamount. In every 15
direction he heard some one or other of the gang hemming
him in. At length he reached the rocky ridge along the
river ; one of the red-caps was hard behind him. A steep
rock like a wall rose directly in his way ; it seemed to cut
off all retreat, when fortunately he espied the strong cord- 20
like branch of a grapevine reaching half-way down it. He
sprang at it with the force of a desperate man, seized it
with both hands, and being young and agile, succeeded
in swinging himself to the summit of the cliff. Here he
stood in full relief against the sky, when red-cap cocked 25
his pistol and fired. The ball whistled by Sam's head.
With the lucky thought of a man in an emergency, he
uttered a yell, fell to the ground, and detached at the
same time a fragment of the rock, which tumbled with a
loud splash into the river. 30

^^I've done his business," said the red-cap to one or
two of his comrades as they arrived panting. ^^ He'll
tell no tales, except to the fishes in the river."

192 TALES OF A TRAVELLER

His pursuers now turned to meet their companions.
Sam, sliding silently down the surface of the rock, let
himself quietly into his skiff, cast loose the fastening, and
abandoned himself to the rapid current, which in that place
5 runs like a mill-stream, and soon swept him off from the
neighborhood. It was not, however, until he had drifted
a great distance that he ventured to ply his oars, when he
made his skiff dart like an arrow through the strait of
Hell-gate, never heeding the danger of Pot, Frying-Pan,
lo nor Hog^s Back itself : nor did he feel himself thoroughly
secure until safely nestled in bed in the cockloft of the
ancient farm-house of the Suydams.

Here the worthy Peechy Prauw paused to take breath,
and to take a sip of the gossip tankard ° that stood at his
15 elbow. His auditors remained with open mouths and out-
stretched necks, gaping like a nest of swallows for an
additional mouthful.

^^And is that all?" exclaimed the half -pay officer.
"That's all that belongs to the story,'' said Peechy
20 Prauw.

"And did Sam never find out what was buried by the
red-caps ? " said Wolfert, eagerly, whose mind was haunted
by nothing but ingots and doubloons.

"Not that I know of,'' said Peechy; "he had no time
25 to spare from his work, and, to tell the truth, he did not
like to run the risk of another race among the rocks.
Besides, how should he recollect the spot where the
grave had been digged? every thing would look so differ-
ent by daylight. And then, where was the use of looking
30 for a dead body, when there was no chance of hanging
the murderers?"

" Aye, but are you sure it was a dead body they buried ? "
said Wolfert.

WOLFERT WEBBER, OR GOLDEN DREAMS 193

''To be sure/' cried Peechy Prauw, exultingly. ''Does
it not haunt in the neighborhood to this very day?''

" Haunts ! " exclaimed several of the party, opening their
eyes still wider, and edging their chairs still closer.

"Aye, haunts," repeated Peechy; "have none of you 5
heard of Father Red-cap, who haunts the old burnt farm-
house in the woods, on the border of the Sound, near
Hell-gate?"

"Oh, to be sure, I've heard tell of something of the
kind, but then I took it for some old wives' fable." 10

"Old wives' fable or not," said Peechy Prauw, "that
farm-house stands hard by the very spot. It's been un-
occupied time out of mind, and stands in a lonely part of
the coast; but those who fish in the neighborhood have
often heard strange noises there; and lights have been 15
seen about the wood at night ; and an old fellow in a red
cap has been seen at the windows more than once, which
people take to be the ghost of the body buried there.
Once upon a time three soldiers took shelter in the building
for the night, and rummaged it from top to bottom, 20
when they found old Father Red-cap astride of a cider-
barrel in the cellar, with a jug in one hand and a goblet
in the other. He offered them a drink out of his goblet,
but just as one of the soldiers was putting it to his mouth
— whew! — a flash of fire blazed through the cellar, 25
Winded every mother's son of them for several minutes,
and when they recovered their eye-sight, jug, goblet, and
Red-cap had vanished, and nothing but the empty cider-
barrel remained."

Here the half-pay officer, who was growing very muzzy° 30
and sleepy, and nodding over his liquor, with half-extin-
guished eye, suddenly gleamed up like an expiring rush-
light.°

194 TALES OF A TRAVELLER

'^That's all fudge!'' said he, as Peechy finished his last
story.

^^Well, I don't vouch for the truth of it myself/' said

Peechy Prauw, "though all the world knows that there's

5 something strange about that house and grounds ; but as

to the story of Mud Sam, I beheve it just as well as if it

had happened to myself."

The deep interest taken in this conversation by the
company had made them unconscious of the uproar

lo abroad among the elements, when suddenly they were
electrified by a tremendous clap of thunder. A lumbering
crash followed instantaneously, shaking the building to its
very foundation. All started from their seats, imagining
it the shock of an earthquake, or that old Father Red-cap

1 5 was coming among them in all his terrors. They hstened
for a moment, but only heard the rain pelting against
the windows, and the wind howling among the trees.
The explosion was soon explained by the apparition of an
old negro's bald head thrust in at the door, his white

2o goggle eyes contrasting with his jetty poll, which was wet
with rain, and shone like a bottle. In a jargon but half
intelligible, he announced that the kitchen-chimney had
been struck with lightning.

A sullen pause of the storm, which now rose and sunk

25 in gusts, produced a momentary stillness. In this interval
the report of a musket was heard, and a long shout, almost
like a yell, resounded from the shores. Every one crowded
to the window; another musket-shot was heard, and
another long shout, mingled wildly with a rising blast of

30 wind. It seemed as if the cry came up from the bosom of
the waters ; for though incessant flashes of lightning spread
a light about the shore, no one was to be seen,

WOLFERT WEBBER, OR GOLDEN BREAMS 195

Suddenly the window of the room overhead was opened,
and a loud halloo uttered by the mysterious stranger.
Several bailings passed from one party to the other, but
in a language w^hich none of the company in the bar-room
could understand ; and presently they heard the window 5
closed, and a great noise overhead, as if all the furniture
were pulled and hauled about the room. The negro
servant was summoned, and shortly afterwards was seen
assisting the veteran to lug the ponderous sea-chest down-
stairs. 10

The landlord was in amazement. "What, you are not
going on the water in such a storm ? ^'

'^ Storm !^^ said the other, scornfully, "do you call
such a sputter of weather a storm ?'^

"You'll get drenched to the skin, — you'll catch your 15
death!'' said Peechy Prauw, affectionately.

"Thunder and lightning!" exclaimed the veteran,
" don't preach about weather to a man that has cruised in
whirlwinds and tornadoes."

The obsequious Peechy was again struck dumb. The 20
voice from the water was heard once more in a tone of
impatience ; the bystanders stared with redoubled awe at
this man of storms, who seemed to have come up out of
the deep, and to be summoned back to it again. As, with
the assistance of the negro, he slowly bore his ponderous 25
sea-chest towards the shore, they eyed it with a super-
stitious feeling, — half doubting whether he were not
really about to embark upon it and launch forth upon the
wild waves. They followed him at a distance with a
lantern. 30

" Dowse ° the light ! " roared the hoarse voice from the
water. "No one wants light here !"

"Thunder and lightning!" exclaimed the veteran,

196 TALES OF A TRAVELLER

turning short upon them; ^^back to the house with
you!"

Wolfert and his companions shrunk back in dismay.
Still their curiosity would not allow them entirely to with-
5 draw. A long sheet of lightning now flickered across the
waves, and discovered a boat, filled with men, just under
a rocky point, rising and sinking with the heaving surges,
and swashing the waters at every heave. It was with
difficulty held to the rocks by a boat-hook, for the current

lo rushed furiously round the point. The veteran hoisted
one end of the lumbering sea-chest on the gunwale of the
boat, and seized the handle at the other end to lift it in,
when the motion propelled the boat from the shore; the
chest slipped off from the gunwale, and, sinking into the

15 waves, pulled the veteran headlong after it. A loud
shriek was uttered by all on shore, and a volley of exe-
crations by those on board, but boat and man were
hurried away by the rushing swiftness of the tide. A
pitchy darkness succeeded ; Wolfert Webber indeed

20 fancied that he distinguished a cry for help, and that he
beheld the drowning man beckoning for assistance; but
when the lightning again gleamed along the water, all
was void ; neither man nor boat was to be seen ; nothing
but the dashing and weltering of the waves as they hur-

25 ried past.

The company returned to the tavern to await the sub-
siding of the storm. They resumed their seats, and gazed
on each other with dismay. The whole transaction had
not occupied five minutes, and not a dozen words had been

30 spoken. When they looked at the oaken chair, they could
scarcely realize the fact that the strange being who had so
lately tenanted it, full of life and Herculean vigor, should
already be a corpse. There was the very glass he had

WOLFERT WEBBER, OR GOLDEN DREAMS 197

just drunk from ; there lay the ashes from the pipe which
he had smoked, as it were with his last breath. As the
worthy burghers pondered on these things, they felt a
terrible conviction of the uncertainty of existence, and each
felt as if the ground on which he stood was rendered less 5
stable by his awful example.

As, however, the most of the company were possessed
of that valuable philosophy ° which enables a man to bear
up with fortitude against the misfortunes of his neighbors,
they soon managed to console themselves for the tragic 10
end of the veteran. The landlord was particularly happy
that the poor dear man had paid his reckoning before he
went ; and made a kind of farewell speech on the occasion.

^^He came,'^ said he, ^^in a storm, and he went in a
storm ; he came in the night, and he went in the night ; 1 5
he came nobody knows whence, and he has gone nobody
knows where. For aught I know he has gone to sea
once more on his chest, and may land to bother some people
on the other side of the world! Though it's a thousand
pities,'' added he, '^if he has gone to Davy Jones' locker,° 20
that he had not left his own locker behind him."

^^ His locker ! St. Nicholas preserve us ! " cried Peechy
Prauw. ^^I'd not have had that sea-chest in the house
for any money; I'll warrant he'd come racketing after it
at nights, and making a haunted house of the inn. And, 25
as to his going to sea in his chest, I recollect what happened
to Skipper Onderdonk's ship on his voyage from Amster-
dam.

^^The boatswain died during a storm: so they wrapped
him up in a sheet, and put him in his own sea-chest, and 30
threw him overboard; but they neglected in their hurry-
skurry to say prayers over him — and the storm raged
and roared louder than ever, and they saw the dead man

198 TALES OF A TRAVELLER

seated in his chest, with his shroud for a sail, coming hard
after the ship; and the sea breaking before him in great
sprays hke fire; and there they kept scudding day after
day, and night after night, expecting every moment to go

5 to wreck ; and every night they saw the dead boatswain
in his sea-chest trying to get up with them, and they heard
his whistle above the blasts of wind and he seemed to send
great seas mountain-high after them, that would have
swamped the ship if they had not put up the dead-lights.^

lo And so it went on till they lost sight of him in the fogs off
Newfoundland, and supposed he had veered ship and
stood for Dead Man^s Isle. So much for burying a man
at sea without saying prayers over him.'^

The thunder-gust which had hitherto detained the com-

i5pany was now at an end. The cuckoo clock in the hall
told midnight; every one pressed to depart, for seldom
was such a late hour of the night trespassed on by these
quiet burghers. As they sallied forth, they found the
heavens once more serene. The storm which had lately

20 obscured them had rolled away, and lay piled up in fleecy
masses on the horizon, lighted up by the bright crescent of
the moon, which looked like a little silver lamp hung up in
a- palace of clouds.

The dismal occurrence of the night, and the dismal

25 narrations they had made, had left a superstitious feeling
in every mind. They cast a fearful glance at the spot where
the buccaneer had disappeared, almost expecting to see
him sailing on his chest in the cool moonshine. The
trembling rays » glittered along the waters, but all was

30 placid ; and the current dimpled over the spot where he
had gone down. The party huddled together in a little
crowd as they repaired homewards; particularly when
they passed a lonely field where a man had been murdered;

WOLFERT WEBBER, OR GOLDEN DREAMS 199

and even the sexton, who had to complete his journey
alone, though accustomed, one would think, to ghosts
and goblins, went a long way round, rather than pass by
his own churchyard.

Wolfert Webber had now carried home a fresh stock of 5
stories and notions to ruminate upon. These accounts of
pots of money and Spanish treasures, buried here and
there and everywhere, about the rocks and bays of these
wild shores, made him almost dizzy. ^^ Blessed St.
Nicholas!'' ejaculated he, half aloud, ''is it not possible 10
to come upon one of these golden hoards, and to make
one's self rich in a twinkling? How hard that I must go
on, delving and delving, day in and day out, merely to
make a morsel of bread, when one lucky stroke of a spade
might enable me to ride in my carriage for the rest of my i s
life!"

As he turned over in his thoughts all that had been told
of the singular adventure of the negro fisherman, his
imagination gave a totally different complexion to the
tale. He saw in the gang of red-caps nothing but a crew 20
of pirates burying their spoils, and his cupidity was once
more awakened by the possibility of at length getting on
the traces of some of this lurking wealth. Indeed, his
infected fancy tinged every thing with gold. He felt like
the greedy inhabitant of Bagdad, when his eyes had been 25
greased with the magic ointment of the dervise, that gave
him to see all the treasures of the earth. Caskets of buried
jewels, chests of ingots, and barrels of outlandish coins,
seemed to court him from their concealments, and sup-
plicate him to relieve them from their untimely graves. 30

On making private inquiries about the grounds said
to be haunted by Father Red-cap, he was more and more
confirmed in his surmise. He learned that the place had

200 TALES OF A TRAVELLER

several times been visited by experienced money-diggers,
who had heard Black Sam^s story, though none of them
had met with success. On the contrary, they had always
been dogged with ill-luck of some kind or other, in con-
5 sequence, as Wolfert concluded, of not going to work at
the proper time, and with the proper ceremonials. The
last attempt had been made by Cobus Quackenbos, who
dug for a whole night, and met with incredible difficulty,
for as fast as he threw one shovelful of earth out of the hole,

lo two were thrown in by invisible hands. He succeeded so
far, however, as to uncover an iron chest, when there was a
terrible roaring, ramping, and raging of uncouth figures
about the hole, and at length a shower of blows, dealt
by invisible cudgels, fairly belabored him off of the for-

15 bidden ground. This Cobus Quackenbos had declared on
his death-bed, so that there could not be any doubt of it.
He was a man that had devoted many years of his life to
money-digging, and it was thought would have ultimately
succeeded had he not died recently of a brain-fever in the

20 almshouse. °

Wolfert Webber was now in a worry of trepidation and
impatience, fearful lest some rival adventurer should get
a scent of the buried gold. He determined privately to
seek out the black fisherman, and get him to serve as guide

25 to the place where he had witnessed the mysterious scene
of interment. Sam was easily found; for he was one of
those old habitual beings that live about a neighborhood
until they wear themselves a place in the public mind, and
become, in a manner, public characters. There was not

30 an unlucky urchin about town that did not know Sam
the fisherman, and think that he had a right to play his
tricks upon the old negro. Sam had led an amphibious
life for more than half a century, about the shores of the

WOLFERT WEBBER, OR GOLDEN DREAMS 201

bay and the fishing-grounds of the Sound. He passed a
greater part of his time on and in the water, particularly
about Hell-gate, and might have been taken, in bad
weather, for one of the hobgoblins that used to haunt that
strait. There would he be seen, at all times, and in all 5
weathers; sometimes in his skiff, anchored among the
eddies, or prowling like a shark about some wreck, where
the fish are supposed to be most abundant. Sometimes
seated on a rock from hour to hour, looking, in the mist
and drizzle, like a solitary heron watching for its prey. 10
He was well acquainted with every hole and corner of the
Sound, from the Wallabout° to Hell-gate, and from Hell-
gate unto the Devil's Stepping-Stones ; and it was even
affirmed that he knew all the fish in the river by their
Christian names. 15

Wolfert found him at his cabin, which was not much
larger than a tolerable dog-house. It was rudely con-
structed of fragments of wrecks and drift-wood, and built
on the rocky shore, at the foot of the old fort, just about
what at present forms the point of the Battery. A ^^most 20
ancient and fish-like smeir' pervaded the place. Oars,
paddles, and fishing-rods were leaning against the wall of
the fort; a net w^as spread on the sand to dry; a skiff
was drawn up on the beach ; and at the door of his cabin
was Mud Sam himself, indulging in the true negro luxury 25
of sleeping in the sunshine.

Many years had passed away since the time of Sam's
youthful adventure, and the snows of many a winter had
grizzled the knotty wool upon his head. He perfectly
recollected the circumstances, however, for he had often 30
been called upon to relate them, though in his version of
the story he differed in many points from Peechy Prauw,
as is not unfrequently the case with authentic historians.

202 TALES OF A TRAVELLER

As to the subsequent researches of money-diggers, Sam
knew nothing about them; they were matters quite out
of his hne; neither did the cautious Wolfert care to dis-
turb his thoughts on that point. His only wish was to
5 secure the old fisherman as a pilot to the spot, and this was
readily effected. The long time that had intervened since
his nocturnal adventure had effaced all Sam's awe of the
place, and the promise of a trifling reward roused him at
once from his sleep and his sunshine.

lo The tide was adverse to making the expedition by water,
and Wolfert was too impatient to get to the land of promise
to wait for its turning: they set off, therefore, by land.
A walk of four or five miles brought them to the edge of
a wood, which at that time covered the greater part of the

15 eastern side of the island. It was just beyond the pleasant
region of Bloomen-dael.° Here they struck into a long
lane, straggling among trees and bushes, very much
overgrown with weeds and mullein-stalks, as if but seldom
used, and so completely overshadowed as to enjoy but

20 a kind of twilight. Wild vines entangled the trees and
flaunted in their faces; brambles and briers caught their
clothes as they passed; the garter-snake glided across
their path; the spotted toad hopped and waddled before
them, and the restless cat-bird mewed at them from every

25 thicket. Had Wolfert Webber been deeply read in ro-
mantic legend, he might have fancied himself entering
upon forbidden, enchanted ground; or that these were
some of the guardians set to keep watch upon buried
treasure. As it was, the loneliness of the place, and the

30 wild stories connected with it, had their effect upon his
mind.

On reaching the lower end of the lane, they found them-
selves near the shore of the Sound in a kind of amphi-

WOLFERT WEBBER, OR GOLDEIT DREAMS 203

theatre, surrounded by forest-trees. The area had once
been a grass-plot, but was now shagged with briers and
rank weeds. At one end, and just on the river bank, was
a ruined building, little better than a heap of rubbish,
with a stack of chimneys rising like a solitary tower out of 5
the centre. The current of the Sound rushed along just
below it ; with wildly grown trees drooping their branches
into its waves.

Wolfert had not a doubt that this was the haunted
house of Father Red-cap, and called to mind the story 10
of Peechy Prauw. The evening was approaching, and the
light falling dubiously among, the woody places, gave a
melancholy tone to the scene, well calculated to foster
any lurking feeling of awe or superstition. The night-
hawk, wheeling about in the highest regions of the air, 15
emitted his peevish boding cry. The woodpecker gave a
lonely tap now and then on some hollow tree, and the fire-
bird ^ ° streamed by them with his deep-red plumage.

They now came to an enclosure that had once been a
garden. It extended along the foot of a rocky ridge, but 20
was little better than a wilderness of weeds, with here and
there a matted rosebush, or a peach- or plum-tree grown
wild and ragged, and covered with moss. At the lower end
of the garden they passed a kind of vault in the side of a
bank, facing the water. It had the look of a root-house. 25
The door, though decayed, was still strong, and appeared
to have been recently patched up. Wolfert pushed it
open. It gave a harsh grating upon its hinges, and
striking against something like a box, a rattling sound
ensued, and a skull rolled on the floor. Wolfert drew back 30
shuddering, but was reassured on being informed by
the negro that this was a family vault belonging to one
^ Orchard oriole.

204 TALES OF A TRAVELLER

of the old Dutch famihes that owned this estate: an
assertion corroborated by the sight of coffins of various
sizes piled within. Sam had been familiar with all these
scenes when a boy, and now knew that he could not be far
5 from the place of which they were in quest.

They now made their way to the water ^s edge, scram-
bling along ledges of rocks that overhung the waves, and
obliged often to hold by shrubs and grapevines to avoid
slipping into the deep and hurried stream. At length

lothey came to a small cove, or rather indent of the shore.
It was protected by steep rocks, and overshadowed by a
thick copse of oaks and chestnuts, so as to be sheltered
and almost concealed. The beach shelved gradually
within the cove, but the current swept deep, and black,

IS and rapid, along its jutting points. The negro paused,
raised his remnant of a hat, and scratched his grizzled
poll for a moment, as he regarded this nook, then suddenly
clapping his hands, he stepped exultantly forward, and
pointed to a large iron ring, stapled firmly in the rock,

20 just where a broad shelf of stone furnished a commodious
landing-place. It was the very spot where the red-caps
had landed. Years had changed the more perishable
features of the scene, but rock and iron yield slowly to the
influence of time. On looking more closely, Wolfert re-

25 marked three crosses cut in the rock just above the ring,
which had no doubt some mysterious signification. Old
Sam now readily recognized the overhanging rock under
which his skiff had been sheltered during the thunder-
gust. To follow up the course which the midnight gang

30 had taken, however, was a harder task. His mind had
been so much taken up on that eventful occasion by the
persons of the drama, as to pay but little attention to the
scenes; and these places look so different by night and

WOLFERT WEBBER, OR GOLDEN DREAMS 205

day. After wandering about for some time, however,
they came to an opening among the trees which Sam
thought resembled the place. There was a ledge of rock
of moderate height like a wall on one side, which he thought
might be the very ridge whence he had overlooked the 5
diggers. Wolfert examined it narrowly, and at length
discovered three crosses similar to those on the above
ring, cut deeply into the face of the rock, but nearly ob-
literated by moss that had grown over them. His heart
leaped with joy, for he doubted not they were the private ic
marks of the buccaneers. All now that remained was to
ascertain the precise spot where the treasure lay buried;
for otherwise he might dig at random in the neighborhood
of the crosses without coming upon the spoils, and he had
already had enough of such profitless labor. Here, how- 15
ever, the old negro was perfectly at a loss, and indeed per-
plexed him by a variety of opinions ; for his recollections
were all confused. Sometimes he declared it must have
been at the foot of a mulberry-tree hard by; then beside
a great white stone; then under a small green knoll, a 20
short distance from the ledge of rocks; until at length
Wolfert became as bewildered as himself.

The shadows of evening were now spreading themselves
over the woods, and rock and tree began to mingle together.
It was evidently too late to attempt any thing farther at 25
present, and, indeed, Wolfert had come unprovided with
implements to prosecute his researches. Satisfied, there-
fore, with having ascertained the place, he took note of all
its landmarks, that he might recognize it again, and set
out on his return homeward, resolved to prosecute this 30
golden enterprise without delay.

The leading anxiety which had hitherto absorbed every
feeling being now in some measure appeased, fancy began

206 TALES OF A TRAVELLER

to wander and to conjure up a thousand shapes and chi-
meras as he returned through this haunted region. Pirates
hanging in chains seemed to swing from every tree, and
he almost expected to see some Spanish Don, with his
5 throat cut from ear to ear, rising slowly out of the ground,
and shaking the ghost of a money-bag.

Their way back lay through the desolate garden, and
Wolfert's nerves had arrived at' so sensitive a state that
the flitting of a bird, the rustling of a leaf, or the falling of

loa nut, was enough to startle him. As they entered the
confines of the garden, they caught sight of a figure at a
distance advancing slowly up one of the walks, and bending
under the weight of a burden. They paused and regarded
him attentively. He wore what appeared to be a woollen

15 cap, and, still more alarming, of a most sanguinary red.

The figure moved slowly on, ascended the bank, and

stopped at the very door of the sepulchral vault. Just

before entering it he looked around. What was the

affright of Wolfert when he recognized the grizzly visage

20 of the drowned buccaneer ! He uttered an ejaculation of
horror. The figure slowly raised his iron fist, and shook
it with a terrible menace. Wolfert did not pause to see
any more, but hurried off as fast as his legs could carry him,
nor was Sam slow in following after his heels, having all

25 his ancient terrors revived. Away, then, did they scramble
through bush and brake, horribly frightened at every
bramble that tugged at their skirts; nor did they pause
to breathe until they had blundered their way through
this perilous wood, and fairly reached the high road to the

30 city.

Several days elapsed before Wolfert could summon
courage enough to prosecute the enterprise, so much had
he been dismayed by the apparition, whether living or

WOLFERT WEBBER, OR GOLDEN DREAMS 207

dead, of the grizzly buccaneer. In the meantime, what a
conflict of mind did he suffer ! He neglected all his con-
cerns, was moody and restless all day, lost his appetite,
wandered in his thoughts and words, and committed a
thousand blunders. His rest was broken ; and when he s
Tell asleep the nightmare, in shape of a huge money-bag,
sat squatted upon his breast. He babbled about incal-
culable sums ; fancied himself engaged in money-digging ;
threw the bed-clothes right and left, in the idea that he
was shovelling away the dirt ; groped under the bed in lo
quest of the treasure, and lugged forth, as he supposed, an
inestimable pot of gold.

Dame Webber and her daughter were in despair at
what they conceived a returning touch of insanity.
There are two family oracles, one or other of which Dutch 1 5
housewives consult in all cases of great doubt and per-
plexity— the dominie^ and the doctor. In the present
instance they repaired to the doctor. There was at that
time a little dark mouldy man of medicine, famous among
the old housewives of the Manhattoes for his skill not only 20
in the healing art, but in all matters of strange and
mysterious nature. His name was Dr. Knipperhausen,
but he was more commonly known by the appellation of
the High-German° Doctor.^ To him did the poor women
repair for counsel and assistance touching the mental 25
vagaries of Wolfert Webber.

They found the doctor seated in his little study, clad in
his dark camlet robe of knowledge, ° with his black velvet
cap, after the manner of Boorhaave,° Van Helmont,°
and other medical sages ; a pair of green spectacles set in 30
black horn upon his clubbed nose, and poring over a

1 The same, no doubt, of whom mention is made in the history
of Dolph Heyliger,

208 TALES OF A TRAVELLER

German folio that reflected back the darkness of his
physiognomy. ° The doctor listened to their statement
of the symptoms of Wolfert's malady with profound at-
tention ; but when they came to mention his raving about

5 buried money, the little man pricked up his ears. Alas,

poor women ! they little knew the aid they had called in.

Dr. Knipperhausen had been half his life engaged in

seeking the short cuts to fortune, in quest of which so

many a long lifetime is wasted. He had passed some

lo years of his youth among the Harz mountains of Ger-
many, and had derived much valuable instruction from the
miners, touching the mode of seeking treasure buried in
the earth. He had prosecuted his studies also under a
travelling sage who united the mysteries of medicine with

15 magic and legerdemain. His mind therefore had become
stored with all kinds of mystic lore ; he had , dabbled a
little in astrology, ° alchemy, divination; knew how to
detect stolen money, and to tell where springs of water
lay hidden; in a word, by the dark nature of his knowl-

20 edge he had acquired the name of the High-German Doctor,
which is pretty nearly equivalent to that of necromancer.
The doctor had often heard rumors of treasure being
buried in various parts of the island, and had long been
anxious to get on the traces of it. No sooner were Wol-

2*5 fert^s waking and sleeping vagaries confided to him than
he beheld in them the confirmed symptoms of a case of
money-digging, and lost no time in probing it to the bottom.
Wolfert had long been sorely oppressed in mind by the
golden secret, and as a family physician is a kind of father

30 confessor, he was glad of any opportunity of unburden-
ing himself. So far from curing, the doctor caught the
malady from his patient. The circumstances unfolded
to him awakened all his cupidity; he had not a doubt of

WOLFEBT WEBBER, OR GOLDEN DREAMS 209

money being buried somewhere in the neighborhood of
the mysterious crosses, and offered to join Wolfert in the
search. He informed him that much secrecy and caution
must be observed in enterprises of the kind; that money
is only to be digged for at night, with certain forms and 5
ceremonies, and burning of drugs, the repeating of mystic
words, and above all, that the seekers must first be pro-
vided with a divining rod, which had the wonderful prop-
erty of pointing to the very spot on the surface of the
earth under which treasures lay hidden. As the doctor lo
had given much of his mind to these matters, he charged
himself with all the necessary preparations, and, as the
quarter of the moon was propitious, he undertook to have
the divining rod ready by a certain night. ^

^ The following note was found appended to this passage in 15
the handwriting of Mr. Knickerbocker :° ^' There has been much
written against the divining rod by those light minds who are
ever ready to scoff at the mysteries of nature, but I fully join with
Dr. Knipperhausen in giving it my faith. I shall not insist upon
its efficacy in discovering the concealment of stolen goods, the 20
boundary stones of fields, the traces of robbers and murderers,
or even the existence of subterraneous springs and streams of
water; albeit, I think these properties not to be readily discred-
ited; but of its potency in discovering veins of precious metal,
and hidden sums of money and jewels, I have not the least doubt. 25
Sonie said that the rod turned only in the hands of persons who
had been born in particular months of the year, hence astrologers
had recourse to planetary influence when they would procure a
talisman. Others declared that the properties of the rod were
either an effect of chance, or the fraud of the holder, or the work 30
of the devil. Thus saith the reverend father Gaspard Sebett in
his Treatise on Magic: ^Propter hsec et similia argumenta audac-
ter ego promisero vim conversivam virgulae bifurcatse nequa-
quam naturalem esse, sed vel casu vel fraude virgulam tractantis
vel ope diaboli,' etc. 35

''Georgius Agricola also was of opinion that it was a mere
delusion of the devil to inveigle the avaricious and unwary into
his clutches, and in his treatise 'de re Metallica,' lays particular
stress on the mysterious words pronounced by those persons who
employed the divining rod during his time. But I make not a 40

210 TALES OF A TRAVELLER

Wolfert^s heart leaped with joy at having met with so
learned and able a coadjutor. Every thing went on se-
cretly, but swimmingly. The doctor had many consulta-
tions with his patient, and the good woman of thehouse-
5 hold lauded the comforting effect of his visits. In the
meantime the wonderful divining rod, that great key
to nature ^s secrets, was duly prepared. The doctor had
thumbed over all his books of knowledge for the occasion ;
and the black fisherman was engaged to take them in his

lo skiff to the scene of enterprise; to work with spade and

pickaxe in unearthing the treasure; and to freight his

bark with the weighty spoils they were certain of finding.

At length the appointed night arrived for this perilous

undertaking. Before Wolfert left his home he counselled

15 his wife and daughter to go to bed, and feel no alarm if
he should not return during the night. Like reasonable
women, on being told not to feel alarm, they fell immedi-
ately into a panic. They saw at once by his manner that
something unusual was in agitation; all their fears about

20 the unsettled state of his mind were revived with tenfold
force ; they hung about him, entreating him not to expose
himself to the night air, but all in vain. When once
Wolfert was mounted on his hobby, it was no easy m^er
to get him out of the saddle. It was a clear starlight

25 doubt that the divining rod is one of those secrets of natural
magic, the mystery of which is to be explained by the sympathies
existing between physical things operated upon by the planets,
and rendered efficacious by the strong faith of the individual.
Let the divining rod be properly gathered at the proper time of

30 the moon, cut into the proper form, used with the necessary
ceremonies, and with a perfect faith in its efficacy, and I can con-
fidently recommend it to ixiy fellow-citizens as an infallible means
of discovering the places on the Island of the Manhattoes where
treasure hath been buried in the olden time.

WOLFERT WEBBER, OR GOLDEN DREAMS 211

night when he issued out of the portaP of the Webber
palace. He wore a large flapped hat tied under the chin
with a handkerchief of his daughter's to secure him from
the night damp, while Dame Webber threw her long red
cloak about his shoulders, and fastened it round his neck. 5

The doctor had been no less carefully armed and ac-
coutred by his housekeeper, the vigilant Frau Ilsy, and
sallied forth in his camlet robe by way of surcoat; his
black velvet cap under his cocked hat, a thick clasped
book under his arm, a basket of drugs and dried herbs in 10
one hand, and in the other the miraculous rod of divination.

The great church-clock struck ten as Wolfert and the
doctor passed by the churchyard, and the watchman
bawled in hoarse voice a long and doleful "All's well!"
A deep sleep had already fallen upon this primitive little 1 5
burgh; nothing disturbed this awful silence, excepting
now and then the bark of some profligate night-walking
dog, or the serenade of some romantic cat. It is true,
W^olfert fancied more than once that he heard the sound
of a stealthy footfall at a distance behind them ; but it 20
might have been merely the echo of their own steps along
the quiet streets. He thought also at one time that he
saw a tall figure skulking after them — stopping when
they stopped, and moving on as they proceeded; but the
dim and uncertain lamp-light threw such vague gleams 25
and shadows, that this might all have been mere fancy.

They found the old fisherman waiting for them, smoking
his pipe in the stern of the skiff, which was moored just in
front of his little cabin. A pickaxe and spade were lying
in the bottom of the boat, with a dark lantern, and a stone 30
bottle of good Dutch courage, in which honest Sam no
doubt put even more faith than Dr, Knipperhausen in his
drugs.

212 TALES OF A TRAVELLER

Thus then did these three worthies embark in their
cockle-shell of a skiff upon this nocturnal expedition, with
a wisdom and valor equalled only by the three wise men of
Gotham^ who adventured to sea in a bowl. The tide was
5 rising and running rapidly up the Sound. The current
bore them along, almost without the aid of an oar. The
profile of the town lay all in shadow. Here and there a
light feebly glimmered from some sick-chamber, or from
the cabin-window of some vessel at anchor in the stream.

lo Not a cloud obscured the deep starry firmament, the lights
of which wavered on the surface of the placid river ; and a
shooting meteor, streaking its pale course in the very
direction they were taking, was interpreted by the doctor
into a most propitious omen.

15 In a little while they glided by the point of Corker's
Hook with the rural inn which had been the scene of such
night adventures. The family had retired to rest, and the
house was dark and still. Wolfert felt a chill pass over him
as they passed the point where the buccaneer had disap-

20 peared. He pointed it out to Dr. Knipperhausen. While
regarding it, they thought they saw a boat actually lurking
at the very place ; but the shore cast such a shadow over
the border of the water that they could discern nothing
distinctly. They had not proceeded far when they heard

25 the low sounds of distant oars, as if cautiously pulled.
Sam plied his oars with redoubled vigor, and knowing all
the eddies and currents of the stream, soon left their
followers, if such they were, far astern. In a little while
they stretched across Turtle Bay and Kip's Bay, then

30 shrouded themselves in the deep shadows of the Manhattan
shore, and glided swiftly along, secure from observation.
At length the negro shot his skiff into a little cove, darkly
embowered by trees, and made it fast to the well-known

WOLFERT WEBBER, OR GOLDEN DREAMS 213

iron ring. They now landed, and lighting the lan-
tern, gathered their various implements and proceeded
slowly through the bushes. Every sound startled them,
even that of their own footsteps among the dry leaves ;
and the hooting of a screech owl, from the shattered 5
chimney of- the neighboring ruin, made their blood run
cold.

In spite of all Wolfert's caution in taking note of the
landmarks, it was some time before they could find the
open place among the trees, where the treasure was sup- 10
posed to be buried. At length they came to the ledge of
rock; and on examining its surface by the aid of the
lantern, Wolfert recognized the three mystic crosses.
Their hearts beat quick, for the momentous trial was at
hand that was to determine their hopes. 15

The lantern was now held by Wolfert Webber, while
the doctor produced the divining rod.° It was a forked
twig, one end of which was grasped firmly in each hand,
while the centre, forming the stem, pointed perpendicularly
upwards. The doctor moved this wand about, within a 20
certain distance of the earth, from place to place, but for
some time without any effect, while Wolfert kept the light
of the lantern turned full upon it, and watched it with
the most breathless interest. At length the rod began
slowly to turn. The doctor grasped it with greater earnest- 25
ness, his hands trembling with the agitation of his mind.
The wand continued to turn gradually, until at length the
stem had reversed its position, and pointed perpendicu-
larly downward, and remained pointing to one spot as
fixedly as the needle to the pole. 3^

'^This is the spot!'' said the doctor, in an almost
inaudible tone.

Wolfert 's heart was in his throat.

214 tal:es of a traveller

'^ Shall I dig?'' said the negro, grasping the spade.
"Pots tausend° no!^^ replied the little doctor, hastily.
He now ordered his companions to keep close by him, and
to maintain the most inflexible silence. That certain pre-
5 cautions must be taken and ceremonies used to prevent the
evil spirit which kept about buried treasure from doing
them any harm. He then drew a circle about the place,
enough to include the whole party. He next gathered dry
twigs and leaves and made a fire, upon which he threw

lo certain drugs and dried herbs which he had brought in his
basket. A thick smoke rose, diffusing a potent^ odor,
savoring marvellously of brimstone and assafoetida,
which, however grateful it might be to the olfactory nerves
of spirits, nearly strangled poor Wolfert, and produced a

15 fit of coughing and wheezing that made the whole grove
resound. Dr. Knipperhausen then unclasped the volume
which he had brought under his arm, which was printed
in red and black characters in German text. While
Wolfert held the lantern, the doctor, by the aid of his

20 spectacles, read off several forms of conjuration^ in Latin
and German. He then ordered Sam to seize the pickaxe
and proceed to work. The close-bound soil gave obsti-
nate signs of not having been disturbed for many a year.
After having picked his way through the surface, Sam

25 came to a bed of sand and gravel, which he threw briskly
to right and left with the spade.

^'Hark!'' said Wolfert, w^ho fancied he heard a tram-
pling among the dry leaves, and rustling through the bushes.
Sam paused for a moment, and they listened. No foot-

30 step was near. The bat flitted by them in silence ; a bird,
roused from its roost by the light which glared up among
the trees, flew circling about the flame. In the profound
stillness of the woodland, they could distinguish the cur-

WOLFERT WEBBER, OR GOLDEN DREAMS 215

rent rippling along the rocky shore, and the distant mur-
muring and roaring of Hell-gate.

The negro continued his labors, and had already digged
a considerable hole. The doctor stood on the edge,
reading formulae every now and then from his black- 5
letter volume, or throwing more drugs and herbs upon the
fire ; while Wolf ert bent anxiously over the pit, watching
every stroke of the spade. Any one witnessing the scenes
' thus lighted up by fire, lantern, and the reflection of
Wolfert^s red mantle, might have mistaken the Httle 1°
doctor for some foul magician, busied in his incantations,
and the grizzly-headed negro for some swart goblin, obe-
dient to his commands.

At length the spade of the fisherman struck upon some-
thing that sounded hollow. The sound vibrated to Wol- ^5
fert^s heart. He struck his spade again.

'^Tis a chest, '^ said Sam.

"Full of gold. 111 warrant it!'' cried Wolf ert, clasping
his hands with rapture.

Scarcely had he uttered the words when a sound from 20
above caught his ear. He cast up his eyes, and lo ! by
the expiring light of the fire he beheld, just over the disk
of the rock, what appeared to be the grim visage of the
drowned buccaneer, grinning hideously down upon him.

Wolf ert gave a loud cry, and let fall the lantern. His 25
panic communicated itself to his companions. The negro
leaped out of the hole; the doctor dropped his book and
basket, and began to pray in German. All was horror
and confusion. The fire was scattered about, the lantern
extinguished. In their hurry-skurry they ran against and 30
confounded one another. They fancied a legion of hob-
goblins let loose upon them, and that they saw, by the
fitful gleams of the scattered embers^ strange figures,

216 TALES OF A TRAVELLER

in red caps, gibbering and ramping around them. The
doctor ran one way, the negro another, and Wolfert made
for the water side. As he plunged strugghng onwards
through brush and brake, he heard the tread of some one
5 in pursuit. He scrambled frantically forward. The
footsteps gained upon him. He felt himself grasped by
his cloak, when suddenly his pursuer was attacked in turn :
a fierce fight and struggle ensued — a pistol was dis-
charged that lit up rock and bush for a second, and showed

lo two figures grappling together — all was darker than ever.
The contest continued — the combatants clinched each
other, and panted, and groaned, and rolled among the
rocks. There was snarling and growling as of a cur,
mingled with curses, in which Wolfert fancied he could

15 recognize the voice of the buccaneer. He would fain have
fled, but he was on the brink of a precipice, and could go
no further.

Again the parties were on their feet ; again there was a
tugging and struggling, as if strength alone could decide

20 the combat, until one was precipitated from the brow of
the cliff, and sent headlong into the deep stream that
whirled below. Wolfert heard the plunge, and a kind of
strangling, bubbling murmur, but the darkness of the night
hid every thing from him, and the swiftness of the current

25 swept every thing instantly out of hearing. One of the
combatants was disposed of, but whether friend or foe,
Wolfert could not tell, nor whether they might not both
be foes. He heard the survivor approach, but his terror
revived. He saw, where the profile of the rocks rose

30 against the horizon, a human form advancing. He could
not be mistaken; it must be the buccaneer. Whither
should he fly ! — a precipice was on one side — a murderer
on the other. The enemy approached — he was close at

WOLFERT WEBBER, OR QOLDEN DREAMS 217

hand. Wolfert attempted to let himself down the face of
the cliff. His cloak caught in a thorn that grew on the
edge. He was jerked from off his feet, and held dangling
in the air, half choked by the string with which his careful
wife had fastened the garment around his neck. Wolfert 5
thought his last moment was arrived; already had he
committed his soul to St. Nicholas, when the string broke,
and he tumbled down the bank, bumping from rock to
rock, and bush to bush, and leaving the red cloak fluttering
like a bloody banner in the air. 10

It was a long while before Wolfert came to himself.
When he opened his eyes, the ruddy streaks of morning
were already shooting up the sky. He found himself
grievously battered, and lying in the bottom of a boat.
He attempted to sit up, but was too sore and stiff to move. 15
A voice requested him in friendly accents to lie still. He
turned his eyes towards the speaker ; it was Dirk Waldron.
He had dogged the party, at the earnest request of Dame
Webber and her daughter, who, with the laudable curiosity
of their sex, had pried into the secret consultations of 20
Wolfert and the doctor. Dirk had been completely dis-
tanced in following the light skiff of the fisherman, and had
just come in time to rescue the poor money-digger from his
pursuer.

Thus ended this perilous enterprise. The doctor and 25
Black Sam severally found their way back to the Man-
hattoes, each having some dreadful tale of peril to relate.
As to poor Wolfert, instead of returning in triumph laden
with bags of gold, he was borne home on a shutter,
followed by a rabble-rout of curious urchins. His wife 30
and daughter saw the dismal pageant from a distance, and
alarmed the neighborhood with their cries; they thought
the poor man had suddenly settled the great debt of

218 TALES OF A TRAVELLER

nature in one of his wayward moods. Finding him,
however, still living, they had him speedily to bed, and
a jury of old matrons of the neighborhood assembled, to
determine how he should be doctored. The whole
5 town was in a buzz with the story of the money-diggers.
Many repaired to the scene of the previous night's ad-
ventures; but though they found the very place of the
digging, they discovered nothing that compensated them
for their trouble. Some say they found the fragments of

lo an oaken chest, and an iron pot-lid, which savored strongly

of hidden money; and that in the old family vault there

were traces of bales and boxes : but this is all very dubious.

In fact, the secret of all this story has never to this day

been discovered; whether any treasure were ever actually

15 buried at that place; whether, if so, it were carried off
at night by those who had buried it; or whether it still
remains there under the guardianship of gnomes and spirits
until it shall be properly sought for, is all matter of con-
jecture. For my part, I incline to the latter opinion ; and

20 make no doubt that great sums lie buried, both there and
in other parts of this island and its neighborhood, ever
since the times of the buccaneers and the Dutch colonists ;
and I would earnestly recommend the search after them
to such of my fellow-citizens as are not engaged in any

25 other speculations.

There were many conjectures formed, also, as to who
and what was the strange man of the seas who had domi-
neered over the little fraternity at Corlaer^s Hook for a
time; disappeared so strangely, and reappeared so fear-

30 fully. Some supposed him a smuggler stationed at that
place to assist his comrades in landing their goods among
the rocky coves of the island. Others, that he was one
of the ancient comrades of Kidd, or Braddish, returned to

WOLFERT WEBBER, OR GOLDEN DREAMS 219

convey away treasures formerly hidden in the vicinity.
The only circumstance that throws any thing like a vague
light on this mysterious matter, is a report which prevailed
of a strange foreign-built shallop, with much the look of
a picaroon, ° having been seen hovering about the Sound 5
for several days without landing or reporting herself,
though boats were seen going to and from her at night;
and that she was seen standing out of the mouth of the
harbor, in the gray of the dawn, after the catastrophe of
the money-diggers. 10

I must not omit to mention another report, also, which
I confess is rather apocryphal, of the buccaneer, who was
supposed to have been drowned, being seen before day-
break, with a lantern in his hand, seated astride of his
great sea-chest, and sailing through Hell-gate, which just 15
then began to roar and bellow with redoubled fury.

While all the gossip world was thus filled with talk and
rumor, poor Wolfert lay sick and sorrowful in his bed,
bruised in body and sorely beaten down in mind. His
wife and daughter did all they could to bind up his wounds, 20
both corporal and spiritual. The good old dame never
stirred from his bedside, where she sat knitting from morn-
ing till night, while his daughter busied herself about
him with the fondest care. Nor did they lack assistance
from abroad. Whatever may be said of the desertion of 25
friends in distress, they had no complaint of the kind to
make. Not an old wife of the neighborhood but aban-
doned her work to crowd to the mansion of Wolfert Webber
to inquire after his health, and the particulars of his story.
Not one came moreover without her little pipkin° of 30
pennyroyal, sage, balm, or other herb tea, delighted at an
opportunity of signalizing her kindness and her doctor-
ghip. What drenchings did not the poor Wolfert undergo,

220 TALES OF A TRAVELLER

and all in vain! It was a moving sight to behold him
wasting away day by day, growing thinner and thinner,
and ghastlier and ghastlier, and staring with rueful vis-
age from under an old patchwork counterpane, upon the
5 jury of matrons kindly assembled to sigh and groan and
look unhappy around him.

Dirk Waldron was the only being that seemed to shed
a ray of sunshine into this house of mourning. He came
in with cheery look and manly spirit, and tried to reani-
lomate the expiring heart of the poor money-digger, but it
was all in vain. Wolfert was completely done over. If
any thing was wanting to complete his despair, it was a
notice served upon him in the midst of his distress, that the
corporation were about to run a new street through the
15 very centre of his cabbage-garden. ° He now saw nothing
before him but poverty and ruin; his last reliance, the
garden of his forefathers, was to be laid waste, and what
then was to become of his poor wife and child ?

His eyes filled with tears as they followed the dutiful

20 Amy out of the room one morning. Dirk Waldron was

seated beside him ; Wolfert grasped his hand, pointed after

his daughter, and for the first time since his illness broke

the silence he had maintained.

^^I am going !'^ said he, shaking his head feebly, ^'and
25 when I am gone — my poor daughter — — ^'

^^ Leave her to me, father !^^ said Dirk, manfully, —
''V\\ take care of her! ^'

Wolfert looked up in the face of the cheery, strapping
youngster, and saw there was none better able to take
30 care of a woman.

'^Enough,'' said he, — '^she is yours ! — and now fetch
me a lawyer — let me make my will and die."

The lawyer was brought — a dapper, bustling, round-

WOLFERT WEBBER, OR GOLDEK DREAMS 221

headed little man, Roorback (or RoUebuck as it was pro-
nounced) by name. At the sight of him the women broke
into loud lamentations, for they looked upon the signing of
a will as the signing of a death-warrant. Wolfert made a
feeble motion for them to be silent. Poor Amy buried 5
her face and her grief in the bed-curtain. Dame Webber
resumed her knitting to hide her distress, which betrayed
itself however in a pellucid tear, which trickled silently
down, and hung at the end of her peaked nose° ; while the
cat, the only unconcerned member of the family, played 10
with the good dame^s ball of worsted, as it rolled about the
floor.

Wolfert lay on his back, his night-cap drawn over his fore-
head; his eyes closed; his whole visage the picture of death.
He begged the lawyer to be brief, for he felt his end ap- 15
proaching, and that he had no time to lose. The lawyer
nibbed ° his pen, spread out his paper, and prepared to
write.

^^I give and bequeath,^' said Wolfert, faintly, ''my
small farm ^' ' 20

"What — all ? '' exclaimed the lawyer.

Wolfert half opened his eyes and looked upon the
lawyer.

''Yes — alV^ said he.

"What ! all that great patch of land with cabbages and 25
sunflower, which the corporation is just going to run a
main street through?"

"The same," said Wolfert, with a heavy sigh, and
sinking back upon his pillow.

"I wish him joy that inherits it !" said the little lawyer, 30
chuckling, and rubbing his hands involuntarily.

"What do you mean?" said Wolfert, again opening his
eyes.

222 TALES OF A TRAVELLER

^^That he ^11 be one of the richest men in the place!"
cried httle RoUebuck.

The expiring Wolfert seemed to step back from the

threshold of existence; his eyes again lighted up; he

5 raised himself in his bed, shoved back his red worsted

night-cap, and stared broadly at the lawyer.

^^You don't say so!'' exclaimed he.

''Faith, but I do!" rejoined the other. ''Why, when

that great field and that huge meadow come to be

lo laid out in streets, and cut up into snug building lots —
why, whoever owns it need not pull off his hat to the
patroon ! "

"Say you so?" cried Wolfert, half thrusting one leg
out of bed, "why, then I think I'll not make my will yet !"

15 To the surprise of every body the dying man actually
recovered. The vital spark, which had glimmered faintly
in the socket, received fresh fuel from the oil of gladness,
which the little lawyer poured into his soul. It once
more burnt up into a flame.

20 Give physic to the heart, ye who would revive the body
of a spirit-broken man! In a few days Wolfert left his
room; in a few days more his table was covered with
deeds, plans of streets, and building lots. Little RoUe-
buck was constantly with him, his right-hand man and

25 adviser; and instead of making his will, assisted in the
more agreeable task of making his fortune. In fact Wolfert
Webber was one of those worthy Dutch burghers of the
Manhattoes whose fortunes have been made, in a manner,
in spite of themselves; who have tenaciously held on to

30 their hereditary acres, raising turnips and cabbages about
the skirts of the city, hardly able to make both ends meet,
until the corporation has cruelly driven streets through
their abodes, and they have suddenly awakened out of

WOLFERT WEBBER, OR GOLDEN DREAMS 223

their lethargy, and, to their astonishment, found them-
selves rich men.°

Before many months had elapsed, a great bustling street
passed through the very centre of the Webber garden,
just where Wolfert had dreamed of finding a treasure. His 5
golden dream was accomplished; he did indeed find an
unlooked-for source of wealth; for, when his paternal
lands were distributed into building lots, and rented out to
safe tenants, instead of producing a paltry crop of cab-
bages, they returned him an abundant crop of rent, in- 10
somuch that on quarter-day it was a goodly sight to see
his tenants knocking at the door, from morning till night,
each with a little round-bellied bag of money, a golden
produce of the soil.

The ancient mansion of his forefathers was still kept up, 15
but instead of being a little yellow-fronted Dutch house
in a garden, it now stood boldly in the midst of a street,
the grand home of the neighborhood ; for Wolfert enlarged
it with a wing on each side, and a cupola or tea-room on
top, where he might climb up and smoke his pipe in hot 20
weather; and in the course of time the whole mansion
was overrun by the chubby-faced progeny of Amy Webber
and Dirk Waldron.

As Wolfert waxed old, and rich, and corpulent, he also
set up a great gingerbread-colored carriage, drawn by 25
a pair of black Flanders mares, with tails that swept the
ground; and to commemorate the origin of his greatness,
he had for his crest a full-blown cabbage painted on the
panels, with the pithy motto %\\t% kopf, that is to say,
ALL HEAD ; meaning thereby that he had risen by sheer 30
head-work.

To fill the measure of his greatness, in the fulness of
time the renowned Ramm Rapelye slept with his fathers,

224 TALES OF A TRAVELLER

and Wolfert Webber succeeded to the leather-bottomed
arm-chair,^ in the inn-parlor at Corlaer's Hook, where he
long reigned greatly honored and respected, insomuch that
he was never known to tell a story without its being be-
5 lieved, nor to utter a joke without its being laughed at.

NOTES

This edition has been carefully edited from the original
editions. The tales included in this volume have been
selected with regard to their permanent interest as well
as literary quality.

STRANGE STORIES BY A NERVOUS GENTLEMAN

1:3. Heels tripped up. Notice how the common lan-
guage is redeemed by the aptness of the metaphor.

1 : 8. Mentz. Other forms are '^ Mainz '^ and ''Mayence."
Irving was ill at this place for some weeks in 1822. At that
time it belonged to the Grand Duchy of Hesse. Austria
and Prussia were allied , so that there were both Austrian and
Prussian soldiers stationed there.

1:17. Healing in the creak of his shoes. A good instance
of the humorous effect secured by associating ideas which
are absolutely foreign to each other but connected with the
same thing in different ways.

2 : 6. Lucubration. Nocturnal studying, hence that which
is composed by night or in retirement. It is used more
loosely to mean any literary composition, and it is in this
sense "that Irving employs it.

2 : 13. Quarto. This mention of the form of a book
rather than its content — carried out in " brace of duo-
decimos'' and ^'set of volumes'' — is typical of a good-
humored raillery against shams and excesses which is char-
Q 225

226 NOTES

acteristic. The effect is intensified by the suggestion of
mere amusement in the words ^'pastime/' ^^brace/^ and ''set
of chair-bottoms.''

2 : 26. Apologue. In an apologue, the moral truth is con-
veyed by a story in which animals or inanimate things act.
Irving does not say that his tales are apologues, but implies
in his humorous fashion that his tales, like apologues, are
designed to present some moral truth.

2 : 33. Alteratives. Note the medical comparison, and
find the words which continue the idea in this paragraph
and the next.

3 : 3. Hippocrates. A Greek physician, 460-357 b.c,
called the "Father of Medicine.'' He was descended from
another famous physician, ^sculapius. Irving uses his
name to exalt, rather humorously, the physician at Mayence.

4 : 17. Geoffrey Crayon. The pseudonym under which
Irving had published The Sketch Book and Bracehridge
Hall.

4 : 19. Ci-devant. A French expression meaning "for-
merly."

THE GREAT UNKNOWN

7 : Title. The Great Unknown. Scott's joking intimation
that he was "the stout gentleman" of Bracehridge Hall led
people to believe that Irving knew who was the author of
Waverley, and so could disclose the great literary secret of
the time — the authorship of Waverley.

8:7. Blue-stocking parties. Boswell gives the origin of
this name in his Life of Johnson. About 1780 it was the
fashion for several ladies to have evening assemblies where
they could enter into conversation with literary men. One
gentleman who was eminent at these parties always wore

NOTES 227

blue stockings. His excellent conversation was so missed
when he was absent that it used to be said, " We can do
nothing without the blue stockings." One of the most
famous of these clubs met at Mrs. Montagu's, and Hannah
More eulogized its principal members in her poem called
Bas Bleu, Blue-stocking.

THE HUNTING DINNER

9:11. Accidence. Explain the figure of speech suggested.

9 : 15. Nimrod. '^ A mighty hunter before Jehovah'' was
the founder of the Babylonian Empire. His characterization
as a huntsman is a pre-Israelite saying.

10 : 3. Potent enemy, the tea-kettle. A clever suggestion
of the English custom of having tea served in the drawing-
room, to which the ladies have retired, while the gentlemen
smoke and talk a little longer at the dinner table.

10 : 5. Robustious. An old word meaning rough or vio-
lent.

10 : 6. Ancient antlers. A slight descriptive touch showing
the old English fashion of decorating hall or dining-room
with the heads of animals or, as in this case, their antlers.

10 : 17. In at the death. Follow the metaphor, which
serves to bring out the nature of this dinner and the diners,
to its conclusion in this phrase. Note the full value of
''given tongue," etc. Extended metaphors like this, with
humorous suggestion in the things compared, are character-
istic of Irving's style.

10 : 26. Hereditary china. By such light touches of detail
Irving gives faithful views of the circumstances of whatever
life he may be presenting.

11 : 7. Put the housekeeper to her trumps. The figure

228 NOTES

indicates the popularity of the game of whist in English
households, and means that she was forced to use all of
her valuable resources.

11 : 14. Gala suit of faded brocade. Notice the force of
each word in indicating the position of the housekeeper.

11 : 24. Chintz-room. A room whose draperies are all
made of the same chintz — a highly decorated cotton fabric
with a glazed surface.

11 : 29. Cedar-parlor. Notice the descriptive force of the
compound here and in ^'rosy-faced'' butler.

12 : 3. Snoring. Notice the good-natured and gently
sarcastic way in which Irving characterizes the excessive
eating in many English households at the time.

12 : 20. Like a lobster. Notice Irving's tendency to give
an image, especially of persons, by caricaturing one or two
features.

12:31. Benshee. Oftener spelled ''Banshee." Notice
each point of the Irishman's explanation, and write your
impression of a "Benshee."

13 : 1. Milesian. A descendant of the ancient Gael, Mil,
who came to Ireland with his followers some centuries before
the Christian era. Mil and his followers, according to tra-
dition, conquered the inhabitants of Ireland and united
with them to form the Irish race. The native kings and
prominent families claimed direct descent from Milesian
ancestry.

14 : 19. The haunted head. The suggestions of character,
as well as images of people, given by whimsical caricature
should receive special attention in reading this sketch, which
furnishes abundant illustration of this one of Irving's marked
characteristics.

NOTES 229

THE ADVENTURE OF MY UNCLE

15 : 2. French Revolution. That great movement in
France, whose dates are generally given as 1789-1799, by
which the Bourbon monarchy and the feudal power of the
nobles, known as the ancien regime, were overthrown.

15 : 7. At present. Note Irving's comment on English
travel brought skilfully into the narrative.

15 : 14. Noblesse. A comprehensive name for all the
nobility of France.

15 : 17. Pays de Caux. A territory in Normandy, France,
north of the Seine and bordering on the English Channel.

15 : 18. Chateau. A castle, or large, stately residence in
France, — usually in the country.

15 : 23. Postilion. Note the four details of description,
and observe which one is used later in referring to the pos-
tilion.

16 : 11. Pop visit. Without special invitation or ad-
visement.

16 : 14. Smack. Notice the choice of words, such as
''snug/' ''relish,'^ and ''smack'' to suggest the desire of a
traveller for rest and refreshment.

16 : 27. Fountains. Note the definite and characteris-
tic details given to describe this garden, as typical of one
element of Irving's excellent descriptive power.

17 : 5. Like the house of our host. Notice the courteous
acknowledgment which the narrator makes of the hospi-
tality of their host.

17 : 15. Wars of the league. The Holy League existed
for about twenty years in the latter part of the sixteenth
century for advancing the interests of the Roman Catholic
Church. Henry the Fourth was at the head of the Hugue-

230 NOTES

nots, or French Protestants. The real aim of the League was
to exclude Protestant princes from succession to the throne.

17 : 17. Henry the Fourth. King of France, 1589-1610;
head of the Huguenot party after the death of the Prince
of Conde in 1569; was opposed by Holy League in suc-
cession to the throne; defeated the Leaguers in 1590 at
battle of Ivry; became a Catholic and was crowned at
Chartres, 1594.

17 : 21. Cross-bow. An ancient weapon shorter than the
long-bow, mounted on a stock, and discharged by means of
a catch, or trigger.

17 : 31. Ear-locks. A lock, or curl, of hair near the ear.

18 : 7. Giant. Note carefully each detail in this description
of the appearance and nature of the Marquis, and see how
skilfully this paragraph is related to the preceding details
about his warlike ancestors.

18 : 12. Carbuncles. A beautiful gem of deep red color,
found chiefly in the East Indies. It is a form of garnet.
It was formerly believed to be capable of shining in
darkness.

18 : 15. Weaver's beam. The large heavy piece of wood
on which the cloth is wound after it is woven. There is also
a beam at the back of the loom to which the threads are
attached. However, gentlemen. A skilful interruption of
his description to keep the reader aware of the main story
from which he is digressing. Note how he returns to the
story at the beginning of the next paragraph.

18 : 23. Tuileries. A former royal palace in Paris to
which Louis XVI. and his family were taken by the mob
from Versailles in 1789. Many important historical events
and persons are associated with the place. The name
means ''Tile yards,'' so called because it was built on the
site of some yards where tiles were made.

NOTES 231

18 : 24. Irruption. Breaking in, as opposed to eruption,
breaking out. Note the force of the Latin prefixes in and ex.

18 : 24. Tenth of August. In 1792, on this date, the
mob stormed the Tuileries, cut down the Swiss Guard, and
removed the king and his family to ''The Temple," a medi-
aeval stronghold of the Templars which was used then as
a prison.

18 : 25. Preux chevalier. Valiant knight.

18 : 26. Qa-ga ! An ejaculation given while delivering a
thrust with a sword.

18:27. Sans-culottes. Literally, "without breeches."
Only the nobles or people of importance wore the court
costume with knee-breeches; hence it came to mean the
common people, — especially those who were active in the
French Revolution.

18 : 28. Poissarde. Fishwoman. Women of that class
took a prominent and active part in the French Revolution.

18 : 30. Ailes de pigeon. Note the comic effect of this
incongruous reference to the powdered ear-locks, or '' pigeon
wings."

19 : 2. Donjon. The " Keep," or central stronghold of
a mediaeval castle.

19 : 11. John Baliol. King of Scotland, 1292-1296.
Made an alliance with Philip of France in 1295 against
Edward I. of England. He was forced by the latter to give
up the crown, and kept a prisoner until 1299, after which he
was exiled. He died in exile in 1315.

19 : 14. Bannockburn. Here the Scotch under Robert
Bruce (King Robert I. of Scotland) defeated the English in
1314. Bruce had previously sided with the English against
John Baliol.

19 : 14. Duke de Guise. Lorraine was the family name
of the dukes of Guise in northeastern France. This prob-

232 NOTES

ably refers to the third duke, who became the head of the
Catholic League in 1576. He was a famous general and
politician.

20 : 19. At this moment. Another reminder that this is
a story within a story.

21 : 9. Fagot. A bundle of stickS; twigs, or even leaves,
used for fuel in this case.

21 : 17. Farrago. A medley or mixture.

21 : 31. Raised his nightcap. Note the comic effect of
this act of instinctive courtesy when the occurrence which
inspires it is so at variance with the circumstances. In-
congruity is the basis of humorous effects. Note also the
previous mention of the nightcap as a preparation.

23 : 25. Ancien regime. Literally, ancient rule. In con-
nection with the French Revolution the phrase means the
monarchical system of government, with all its evils, which
existed before that great change.

23 : 30. Descanted. From its derivation, this word
means to sing a variation or accompaniment ; hence to
discourse with full particulars, as the Marquis did.

24 : 13. Pardonnez-inoi. Pardon me.

24 : 23. Fronde. Most of the great noblemen of France
united in 1648 in a war called the Fronde, against Louis
XIV. before he obtained his majority.

24:24. Turenne. 1611-1675. A famous French gen-
eral under Mazarin, who had at first sided with the nobles
and Parliament against the court in the wars of the
"Fronde." Coligni (or Coligny). 1517-1572. A prominent
French general and statesman, leader of the Huguenot
party, and the first victim in the Massacre of Saint Bar-
tholomew. Mazarin. 1602-1661. A great French states-
man who succeeded Richelieu as prime minister of France,
and whose policy of centralizing all power in the crown gave

NOTES 233

rise to the wars of the Fronde when the nobles and Parlia-
ment opposed it.

24 : 26. Barricadoes. Insurrections at Paris in 1648.
The same name has been applied to other insurrections
there.

24 : 27. Porte Cocheres. The '' Chivalry of the Porte
Cocheres '^ was a body of young men levied by the act of
Richelieu, who commanded that each ^^porte cochere'' of
Paris should furnish a horse and man for the army.

24 : 31. Due de Longueville. Husband of Genevieve de
Bourbon-Conde, sister of ^'The Great Conde/^ and one of
the chief leaders of the Fronde.

24 : 32. Conde and Conti. ^'The Great Conde/' 1621-
1686, was a celebrated French general. He was one of the
leaders of the Fronde, and with his brother, the Duke of
Conti, and the Due de Longueville, was imprisoned at Vin-
cennes in 1650. Conti. 1629-1666. Took part in the wars
of the Fronde ; was the brother of the Duchesse de Longue-
ville, and entirely under her influence.

24 : 33. Vincennes. A short distance east of Paris.
Noted for its mediaeval castle.

25 : 3. Dieppe. A French seaport on the English
Channel.

25 : 12. Postern. A small gate for informal or secret use;
from the Latin, "posterus,'' a private entrance.

25 : 14. Fosse. A ditch or moat.

26 : 9. En croupe. On the saddle behind another rider.
26 : 21. Chasseur. A guardsman on horseback.

26 : 24. Flambeaux. Torches made by putting a number
of wicks together and dipping them in some inflammable
substance, usually wax in old times.

27 : 2. Spit. A rod on which meat could be slowly
turned before a fire and roasted.

234 NOTES

28 : 10. Canaille. A term applied to the common people
of France in opposition to "noblesse.''

29 : 14. That is all. The surprise of finding the story-
ended where one is just looking for the climax is a touch of
Irving's humor. A little disappointing to curiosity, but
justifiable, since it is not strictly the climax of " My Uncle's
Adventure."

29 : 28. Egad. An exclamation of exultation or surprise,
which has been deduced from the ejaculation " My God."

THE ADVENTURE OF MY AUNT

30 : 4. Acquiescent. The full force of this word, like
many which Irving uses, can only be appreciated after one
has considered its derivation.

30 : 11. All was in vain. Notice the humorous effect
of this short sentence with its sarcastic implication.

30 : 25. Miniature. A small picture painted on ivory.
Miniatures were much used in lockets and brooches in the
eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries.

31 : 8. Derbyshire. A midland county of England.

32 : 24. Good. Observe the effect of the comments of
the '^ gentleman with the ruined head," the 'inquisitive
gentleman," etc. They unite the various stories into a group,
and at the same time give countenance to a certain looseness
of form not otherwise justified.

33 : 20. Blunderbuss. A short gun with a large bore
which could hold a number of balls. It could in this way
do much harm without exact aim.

34 : 8. Varlet. The word has here its secondary mean-
ing; a low fellow, or scoundrel.

34 : 13. Knight of the Post. One who gained his living

NOTES 235

by giving false evidence on trials; hence a sharper in gen-
eral.

35 : 2. Oaken towel. Irving's fancy plays about the
idea of the old English punishment of ''ducking/' as a bath,
and adds to it a whipping which his extended metaphor
calls ''rubbing down with an oaken towel.''

35 : 6. Botany Bay. An inlet on the eastern coast of
New South Wales, Australia, where England had a penal
colony in 1787-1788.

BUCKTHORNE AND HIS FRIENDS

39 : 16. Luminaries. Light-giving bodies. Notice the
characteristic way in which Irving extends the metaphor
after his first mention of "lights of the universe."

39:22. Quid pro quo. The Latin "which for what"
indicates an equal exchange, or barter.

40 : 9. Excommunicated. An ecclesiastical term mean-
ing deprived of the right to take part in the rites of the
Church is here used metaphorically to mean exclusion from
the society of authors.

40 : 12. Tete-a-tete. A French idiom meaning a conver-
sation between two persons only.

40 : 21. Friends. Note Irving's tendency to humorous
but sarcastic comment on human foibles.

41 : 1. Taboo'd. It was formerly a practice in the islands
of Polynesia to set apart places, food, persons, names, days,
etc., as permanently, or temporarily, sacred or forbidden to
use. The word is Polynesian.

41 : 4. Charles the Second. 1660-1685. The literature
of the Restoration was marked by the formation and accept-
ance of certain literary forms. It might be called the

236 NOTES

classic age of Dryden, and is very different from the romantic
Elizabethan era of Spenser and Shakespeare.

41 : 5. Queen Anne. 1702-1714. The great victories
over the French doubtless influenced that close group of
literary men whose epigrammatic productions give charac-
ter to the early eighteenth-century literature. Among the
famous names of ''Queen Anne's men'' are Swift, Addison,
Steele, and Pope.

41 : 9. Literary landmarks. Examine the metaphor
fully.

41 : 15. Elizabeth. 1558-1603. A reign noted for the
glorious development of English literature which it made
possible. This literature was marked by great originality,
both of thought and forms of expression. The greatest names
in the literature of this and the Jacobean Age (reign of
James I.) which followed are Spenser, Shakespeare, and Ben
Jonson.

41 : 16. Cut and come again. Take a cut from the joint
and come again for more.

41 : 23. Coterie. Small number of people associated
because of some common interest.

41 : 26. Gregarious. Living in herds most -of the time.
One of the words which continue his reference to authors
as the animals which make books.

A LITERARY DINNER

42 : 4. Bookseller. In the eighteenth century the book-
seller was the man who controlled, to a large extent, the
fates of authors. He assumed the responsibility of publish-
ing, and it was to his interest to publish only what would
sell well.

NOTES 237

42 : 6. Shadrach, Meshech, and Abednego. The three
Hebrews who came forth unharmed from the fiery furnace
of Nebuchadnezzar.

42 : 10. Field-day. A day of unusual exertion or display,
a gala day.

42 : 21. Burgundy. Irving's quaint conceit here is char-
acteristic. The gradation of the wine to suit the number
of editions of the author's works that have been sold is one
of those light, satirical touches of humor for which he was
noted.

43 : 10. Hot-pressed. Refers to the quality of paper —
paper which has been given a gloss by being pressed in a
calender while hot. It is of fine quality. Quarto. A book
of the size of a fourth (Latin quartus) of the size of a sheet
of printing paper. The paper was folded twice to make
four leaves.

43 : 17. Duodecimo men. Note the humorous effect of
measuring authors by the form and size of their publications,
and how admirably the entire classification of authors is
carried out from the bookseller's point of view.

44 : 10. Trencher. In mediaeval days, the food was
served on a large piece of bread hollowed out to receive it,
called a trencher. Later, the word was used for a large
wooden platter; hence, figuratively, all food provided at
table.

44 : 21. Below the salt. Formerly the salt-cellar, often
of massive silver, was placed in the middle of the table.
Distinguished guests were placed between it and the head
of the table. People of inferior rank or importance sat
"below the salt."

44 : 33. Garreteer. One who lives in a garret, hence a poor
author or literary hack.

45 : 19. Forte-piano. An inverted form of the ordinary

238 NOTES

pianoforte, a name derived from two Italian words meaning
soft and loud,

45 : 22. West End. The fashionable part of London,
especially the streets leading out of Piccadilly and Saint
James Street.

THE CLUB OF QUEER FELLOWS

46 : 6. Covent Garden. A famous London theatre of
the eighteenth century, built by a famous Harlequin of
Lincoln's Inn Theatre, in 1731. It was in Bow Street,
the fashionable resort of wits and noted people.

47 : 6. Quip and a fillip. A quip is a smart, sarcastic turn
of speech. Lyly, in Alexander and Campaspe, calls it "a
short saying of a sharpe wit, with a bitter sense in a sweet
word.'' A fillip is a light, quick tap.

47 : 19. Hogarth. The artist whose pictures did much
to improve the social life of the eighteenth century by pre-
senting, in vivid satire, the crude nature of the mass of the
English people as it was shown in their vulgar amusements
and coarse practical jokes.

49:6. Belle-esprit. Better spelled "Bel-esprit," is ap-
titude for speaking and writing agreeably on various
subjects.

49 : 25. Tankard. A large drinking-cup, often made of
pewter. The word comes from " tan quart, " the old French
name for a cup of the kind.

50 : 10. Green-arbor Court. Famous because of Gold-
smith's residence there.

50 : 28. Fleet Market. Near Green Arbor Court and " Old
Bailey," the famous prison in Old London.

51 : 2. The Muses. Daughters of Zeus and Mnemosyne,

NOTES 239

who were, according to the earliest writers, goddesses of
memory, then inspiring goddesses of song. According to
later writers, there were nine of them, who presided over
the different kinds of poetry and over the sciences and
arts.

51 : 15. Viragoes. Used here in its secondary sense of
bold, turbulent women.

51 : 19. Amazon. In Greek legend, one of a race of wo-
men who dwelt in the Caucasus Mountains. They were often
in conflicts with the Greeks in the heroic age. These con-
tests were a favorite theme in Grecian art and story.

51 : 31. Hybla. An ancient city on the coast of Sicily
celebrated for the honey produced on the neighboring hills.

52 : 5. Beau Tibbs. A prominent character in Gold-
smith's Citizen of the World, said by Hazlitt to be '' the best
comic sketch since the time of Addison : unrivalled in his
finery, his vanity, and his poverty. ''

THE POOR-DEVIL AUTHOR

53 : 9. Village literati. The literary people of the village
are sufficiently satirized by the comprehensive name of their
society, '' Literary, Scientific, and Philosophical. ''

53 : 15. Philos. Used here as an abbreviation of philos-
ophers in a humorous sense.

54 : 6. Stratford-on-Avon. The home of Shakespeare.
All the other authors so cleverly characterized are of the
eighteenth-century group of classicists.

55 : 4. Highgate. Highgate Hill was where Bacon died,
after he had been experimenting in the preservation of flesh
by packing it in snow.

55 : 14. Saint Paul's. The great cathedral of London,

240 NOTES

begun in 1675, according to the designs of Sir Christopher
Wren.

55 : 20. Paternoster Row. A part of London associated
with many Hterary celebrities, as are the other places named.
Also the neighborhood of publishers.

55 : 21. Amen Corner. A place in Paternoster Row,
London, where the clergy of Saint Paul's lived. The other
places named were in the neighborhood where printers and
publishers were established. Note the humorous contrast
between '' printers' devils" and the character of the names.

55 : 28. Halo. Used here in its figurative sense, an ideal
glory investing anything seen through the medium of senti-
ment. Derived from the circle of light around the heads
of saints in old pictures. The derivation from a Greek word
meaning 'Hhreshing-floor/' on which the oxen trod a cir-
cular path in threshing, is interesting.

55 : 33. Moore. Scott, Byron, and Moore were very
popular at the time Irving wrote this. Notice the effective-
ness of the diction in describing the absurdly confident exhil-
aration of the village poet.

56 : 5. Digger of Greek roots. Notice the appropriate
metaphorical diction in both ''dig'' and /'root."

56:10. Sanctum sanctorum. "Holy of Holies," that
is, his private office.

56 : 11. Minerva. The Greek goddess of wisdom.

56 : 13. Bernard Lintot. A noted English bookseller who
published Pope's translations of the Iliad, etc., and was a
prominent figure in literary anecdotes of the period.

57 : 28. His opinion. One could scarcely find a better
example of the way in which Irving holds a thing up in the
bright light of good-natured ridicule than the way in which
Tom Dribble tells this story of himself.

57 : 29. My crest fell. Metaphorical expressions like

NOTES 241

this are characteristic. Observe the inimitable sureness of
touch in the selection of details for the humorously satirical
description which precedes and follows this.

60 : 7. Gothic. Belonging to the Goths, a name given
by the Romans to many northern tribes who invaded the
Roman Empire in the third and fourth centuries. Those
to whom the name properly belongs dwelt in the region of the
Lower Danube in the third century. The style of architec-
ture to which their name has been given is very beautiful,
and has been used with wonderful effect in the building of
churches. Pointed windows and arches were features of
this style of building.

60 : 9. Goldy. The familiar nickname used by Gold-
smithes friends.

61 : 3. Cricket. The great English sport played out of
doors with bats, balls, and wickets.

61 : 11. Their own chimneys. Irving's genuine love of
nature gives point to this trivial curiosity in the presence of
beautiful scenery.

61 : 31. Apollo. An appropriate oath because Apollo
was the god associated with the muses.

62 : 9. Mother Red Cap. Another instance of the sig-
nificant names given to English taverns.

62 : 13. Steele. Richard Steele, 1672-1729. One of the
famous literary group known as '^ Queen Anne^s men.''
62 : 14. Perdu. Hidden.

62 : 16. Spectator. This famous literary periodical, pub-
lished by Addison and Steele, 1711-1712, did much to pre-
serve the best qualities of both Puritans and Cavaliers in
Enghsh life, and raised the standard of literary expression.

63 : 9. Arcadian. Scenes of country life — pastoral
scenes such as Sir Philip Sidney used in Arcadia. The
places referred to are now in London.

242 NOTES

63 : 20. Cockney pastorals. '' Cockney '^ is a term applied
banteringly to persons born in London in derision of their
dainty city habits. Their ''pastorals" or praises of the
country are slightly ridiculed, because the places they knew
were so near the great city.

63:26. Harrow. Called the ''learned height" because
of the school there, which is one of the famous public schools
for boys, founded in 1571, but not opened until 1611.
It is eleven miles northwest of London.

64:2. Termagant. Turbulent, quarrelsome — derived
from the name of an imaginary deity supposed to have been
worshipped by the Mohammedans, and introduced into the
Morality Plays as a very boisterous, turbulent person.

64 : 14. Parnassus. A mountain ridge northwest of
Athens, celebrated as the haunt of Apollo, the Muses, and
the nymphs ; hence the seat of music and poetry.

64 : 25. Jack Straw. The name, or nickname, of one of
the leaders of the "Rising of the Commons" in 1381, as-
sociated in this with Wat Tyler and John Ball.

65 : 15. Human nature. In this statement, which was
eminently true of Irving, lies the secret of his delightful
character sketches.

65 : 24. Jump. Agree.

66 : 7. Archipelago. The various islands in the ^gean
Sea east of Greece.

66 : 12. Pad the hoof. A slang expression meaning to
go on foot — used especially of highwaymen. The word
"pad" in this sense was used as early as the sixteenth
century.

66 : 18. Robin Hood. The famous English outlaw whose
courage and attractive personal qualities won the admira-
tion of the people, whose interest in his adventures resulted
in many ballads. Some of his associates were the minstrel,

NOTES 243

Allan a Dale; the rough priest, Friar Tuck; Clymm of the
Clough; and Sir William Clondeslie. Sherwood Forest was
their chief haunt.

67 : 4. Epping Forest. A royal forest in southwestern
Essex, once the resort of freebooters, now a pleasure-
ground for the people of London.

67 : 10. Waltham Abbey. An old Saxon building about
twelve miles north of London. King Harold was buried
there. Chingford Church. An old church in the town of
Chingford, Essex, not far from London.

68 : 17. Spanish galleon. A large unwieldy ship with
three or four decks, used especially as treasure-ships in the
old Spanish commerce with South America. Yellow boys.
Gold coins.

69 : 4. Newgate Calendar. A biographical calendar of
the most notorious criminals confined in Newgate, the
famous old London prison.

70 : 13. Tricks. The humorous skill with which Irving
makes Tom Dribble tell of the difficulties into which his
conceit had led him is inimitable. Notice the reminiscent
force of '^ poetical countenance'^ and the irony of his com-
plete faith in the chance acquaintance of an hour.

71 : 21. Esprit de corps. Spirit of sympathy among the
members of an association or body.

73 : 32. Pegasus. The winged horse of the Muses. With
a stroke of his hoof he caused the fountain of Hippocrene,
which gave poetical inspiration, to spring forth on Mount
Helicon. He was at last changed into a constellation.

74 : 16. Ode. These epigrammatic estimates of the com-
mercial value of poetry are characteristic of Irving's quaint
conceits and apt expression, as are many other pithy ex-
pressions of Tom Dribble.

244 NOTHS

75 : 19. Bow Street office. The principal police court
of London is situated in Bow Street, established there in
1749.

NOTORIETY

77 : Title. Notoriety. This short sketch offers most ex-
cellent material for studying the development of a subject
by examples. Its paragraph structure, also, is full of
interest.

77 : 3. Labyrinths. Notice the full force of the meta-
phor. What was the classic Labyrinth ?

77 : 24. Reputation. Note the derivation and full force
of this word, and trace its influence in determining the de-
tails of the four instances which follow.

79 : 1. Rout. A fashionable assembly or large evening
party. A term much used in the eighteenth-century social
world.

79 : 21. Court Calendar. A list of all the nobility, with
their various histories, titles, etc.

A PRACTICAL PHILOSOPHER

80 : 24. Frost-bitten. Analyze the figure.

81 : 7. Buckthorne. See how entirely the description of
Buckthorne is confined to traits of character and peculiar-
ities of temperament, with no reference to appearance.
Contrast this with "The Man with the Flexible Nose,'' etc.

81 : 13. Epicure. Note the figure. This short sketch
offers good material for emphasizing the effectiveness of
figurative language. Many words suggest comparisons
which are not elaborated.

NOTES 245

81 : 20. Blue sky. Observe the clear image of which this
is an element.

82 : 4. Aurora. In Roman mythology, the goddess of
the dawn. The poets represented her as rising out of the
ocean in a chariot, her rosy fingers dropping gentle dew.

82 : 7. Homilies. Reminiscent of Shakespeare's '^ Ser-
mons in stones, Books in the running brooks/' etc.

85 : Title. Terracina. A town on the Mediterranean
about sixty miles southeast of Rome. It contains the
ruins of a castle of Theodoric the Goth.

85 : 2. Estafette. Express or military courier conveying
government messages. It is derived from an Italian word
meaning ^^ stirrup/' because he went on horseback.

85 : 3. Relay. A horse or supplies kept in readiness so
that the traveller may proceed without delay.

85 : 18. Rosolio. A favorite Italian drink.

85 : 19. Per I'amor di Die. '' For the love of God.''

86 : 3. Fondi. A town fifty-six miles northwest of Naples,
It has some ancient and mediaeval ruins — hence would be
interesting to travellers.

86 : 30. Signora. The Italian title for a married lady.

86 : 32. Corpo di Bacco. An old Italian oath, ''By the
body of Bacchus."

87 : 9. Theodoric the Goth. A famous king and hero
of the fifth and sixth centuries. As a boy he was a hostage
in Constantinople ; later, king of the East Goths and ruler
of Italy. He is the subject of many fabulous stories, and
tradition represents him as a great king who made righteous-
ness prevail, as did Alfred of England.

87 : 15. Felucca. A small, swift-sailing vessel propelled
by oars and peculiar sails in the shape of a right-angled
triangle. It was common on the Mediterranean.

87 : 30. Naples. On the north side of the Bay of Naples

246 NOTES

on the western coast of Italy. It has one of the most beau-
tiful situations in Europe. Mount Vesuvius is nine miles
southeast of the city.

88 : 22. Stilettos. A dagger with a slender, rounded,
pointed blade. The bandit is not, apparently, careful to
distinguish between this and the poniard, which has a tri-
angular or square-shaped blade ending in a point. Carbine.
A short, light musket.

89 : 10. Brigands. Lawless men living by plunder, usually
in mountainous regions — a synonym for banditti.

89 : 13. Gens-d'armes. Soldiers (men at arms) employed
in police duties.

91 : 14. Pontine. Marshes which lie between the sea
and the Volscian Mountains near Terracina — notoriously
pestilential and thinly inhabited.

91 : 19. Landaulet. A small, four-wheeled, covered
vehicle, whose top is divided into two sections which may
be lowered to form an open carriage.

92 : 3. Excellenza. Excellency. Notice the extrava-
gance of titles which the landlord and others exhibit.
"Milor'^ is, of course, the Italian's version of ''My Lord.''

92 : 11. Englishman. Note the details of this descrip-
tion, and the manner and possessions of the travelling
Englishman.

96 : 17. Innuendo. What was this innuendo? Would
this witticism be as effective if the word " levelled " were not
repeated? His cloth. Those of the same occupation as
himself. The expression originated in the custom of uni-
formity of dress for people of the same trade or profession.
The expression is used seriously now only in reference to
clergymen.

96 : 26. San Gennaro. " Saint Januarius ! but these
English are singular people I ''

NOTES 247

96 : 32. Procaccio. The express.

97 : 22. Sicuro. Surely.

99 : 11. Aquiline. Derived from "Aquila," meaning
"eagle.'' What is the connection in meaning?

99 : 14. Improvisatore. One who improvises or origi-
nates some artistic form without preparation.

100 : 4. At this moment. A very clear summary of the
situation in the mountains of the Abruzzi at that time.

100 : 18. Checked in full career. Stopped when he was in
the midst of his talk. The " career'' of a knight in mediaeval
times was the course he ran before he met the opposing
knight on horseback.

ADVENTURE OF THE LITTLE ANTIQUARY

101 : 1. Antiquary. One who is interested in relics of
olden times and knows of their uses^ origins, etc.

101 : 13. Roman Consular s. Coins made in the time of
the feoman Consuls. As. A Roman copper coin originally
of a pound weight. Its weight was reduced to two ounces
in the first Punic War, and to one in the second — hence
the "Funics" which the antiquary had found. Funics.
Coins made during the Punic Wars between Rome and
Carthage in the third century B.C.

101 : 14. Hannibal. The chief commander of the Car-
thaginian forces in the Punic Wars.

101 : 16. Samnite. A coin made in Samnium, a country
of central Italy, which was sometimes allied with Rome,
sometimes opposed, — as in the Social War of 90-88 b.c.

101 : 17. Fhilistis. A coin believed by the antiquarian to
have been struck in the time of Fhilistis, a queen of Philistia,
which was an ancient country southwest of Palestine, on
the Mediterranean.

248 NOTES

102 : 2. Pelasgi. An ancient race widely spread over
Greece and the surrounding countries in prehistoric times.
The accounts of it were mystical and of doubtful value, but
full of interest, of course, for an antiquarian.

102 : 4. Abruzzi. A mountainous region east of Rome —
at the time indicated in this tale quite wild in parts, and
the refuge of banditti.

102 : 22. Peloponnesus. The lower peninsula of Greece —
so called because its shape resembles that of a mulberry-leaf.

10!2 : 24. Acropolis. The hill at Athens on which the
famous Parthenon and other beautiful structures were
built. In ancient times the word was the name of the cita-
del of any city.

102 : 33. Aricia. A town in the province of Rome.

102 : 34. Troy. An ancient city under Priam, famous for
the war made against it by the Greeks, and believed to have
been situated in the northwestern part of Asia Minor.
Tibur, Osculate, and Proenes. Ancient places in Italy
colonized by the Greeks or earlier Pelasgians.

102 : 35. Telegonus. A son of Ulysses, who is said to have
founded some of the colonies in Italy.

103 : 8. Tome. A large, ancient volume.

103 : 9. Spoils of antiquity. What were they?

103 : 30. Intaglio. A stone with a design cut into its
surface.

104 : 7. Buon giorno. Good day.

104:13. Osteria. Inn — of the same origin as "hos-
telry '' and "host.^'

104 : 16. Hemlock. A poison. Socrates was condemned
to death and drank a cup of hemlock.

105 : 16. Family watch. A characteristic combination
of things unlike in most respects, yet connected by the as-
sociation of the moment.

NOTES 249

105 : 22. Galleys. Criminals were often sentenced to
serve as rowers on the galleys, or vessels which were propelled
by oars. These were common on the Mediterranean.

105 : 27. Antiquarian treatise. Would these bandits have
been likely to want his treatise ? Has the fact any bearing
on the humorous effect of this passage ?

106 : 24. Buono viaggio (veagzhio). May you have a
good voyage.

107 : 18. Cardinal Gonsalvi. A cardinal is an official in
the Roman Catholic Church, next below the Pope in rank.
He was at that time an official of the government, since the
Church and State had not been separated in Italy.

108 : 2. Carbonari. Members of a secret political organ-
ization in Italy in the early nineteenth century, whose ob-
ject was to change the government into a republic. The
word means '^coal-men,'' and the organization is believed
to have started among the charcoal-burners.

108 : 24. Frascati. A town near Rome in which there are
interesting old buildings — a Roman theatre.

108 : 26. Campagna. The great plain around Rome.

110 : 2. Herculean. Note the softening effect of drop-
ping the "s'^ when ''an'' was added to Hercules to make
the adjective.

110 : 22. Interruption. Does Irving make his descrip-
tions of bandit life more or less interesting by making them
parts of a conversation ?

111 : 9. Recollect an impromptu. What is the innuendo?
What is an impromptu ?

THE BELATED TRAVELLERS

112 : 9. Creaked out. Note how effective the figure is.
112 : 12. Foraging-cap. Follow closely the detail of

260 NOTES

this description and consider the value of definite, well-
selected items in the effect.

113 : 22. Factotum. Notice the force of this word as
indicated by its derivation from '^facere/' to do, and
^'totum/'all.

116 : 12. Slattern. Why " of course''?

117 : 33. Polonaise. A woman who is a native of Poland.

119 : 18. Conversaziones. A kind of salon, or reception,
where people meet for conversation.

120 : 11. Confitures. Confectionery or sweetmeats.

120 : 16. Loretto. A town of eastern Italy where there
is a famous shrine, called Santa Casa, which is reputed to be
the house of the Virgin transported by angels from Nazareth,
and miraculously placed there in 1294.

120:17. Peccadilloes. Derived from the Latin ^^peccare,"
to sin, with the diminutive termination; hence, little sins.

120 : 20. Cockle-shell. The pilgrim of the Middle Ages
with only his staff, small bag (scrip) and with a cockle-shell
on his hat as a sign that he had been to some shrine, es-
pecially that of Saint James at Compostello.

121 : 31. Out of time. What does this indicate? Is it
at all significant in the description of the princess ?

124 : 17. Wainscot. A wooden boarding on the walls of
an apartment.

124 : 22. Domestic. Derived from Latin '' domus," home ;
hence, one who works about a home.

125 : 31. Extricated. Note the full value of this word in
giving the idea of an intricate plot.

126 : 20. Massacred. Used when a number of human
beings not able to defend themselves are killed in an atro-
cious manner.

129 : 10. Buzzed. Note the effective word indicating
both the manner of telling and the effect upon the hearer.

NOTES 251

129 : 30. Generalship. Note the effect of contrast with
'* dashing valor. '^

131 : 6. Votive. Note the Latin derivation.

131 : 7. Santa Casa. See ^'Loretto/' page 250.
131:16. Of his importance. Irving's characteristic satire

appears in the unquestioning faith of Hobbs and Dobbs,
the linen-draper and greengrocer, in the world-wide fame
and importance of a London drysalter of Throgmorion
Street — the fact of his being a magistrate is of less im-
portance !

ADVENTURE OF THE POPKINS FAMILY

132 : 25. Exaggeration. Irving's observation of national
traits is keen and accurate. Compare the Italian host or
courier with the English servant, John, or the Polish Caspar.

133 : 14. Scaramouch. A personage in the old Italian
comedy characterized by great boastfulness and cowardice.

133 : 27. Hectoring. Worrying or irritating by words
in rather a bullying manner.

134 : 2. Well-stuffed. Note Irving's grouping of unlike
things by means of some expression which gives a humorous
suggestion by its very appropriateness to each.

135:1. Portmanteau. From the French '^porter,'' to
carry, and '' manteau,'' a cloak. Hence a case for carrying
clothing. The old ones were nearly cylindrical and rather
flexible.

135:4. Squalling. Why does Irving use "screaming''
for the young ladies and "squalling'^ for the maid?

135 : 8. Read the riot act. The reading of the act, or
law, in regard to riots might quell a London uprising : as a
suggestion for putting down bandits, it serves Irving 's hu-
morous designs well.

252 NOTES

135 : 22. Eased of. Idiomatic expression for deprived
of — with, of course, a humorous suggestion of relief from
a burden.

136 : 9. Quite picturesque. How does Irving make his
reader feel toward ^'The Popkinses'^? How is this feeling
brought about?

136 : 27. Walked away. Note the difference between
''The Englishman'' and "Hobbs and Dobbs.'' What pro-
duces the different impressions ?

137 : 20. Wallowing. Rolling about.

138 : 1. Exaggerations. Note the values of these Latin
derivations.

THE ADVENTURE OF THE ENGLISHMAN

139 : 10. Dragoons. Mounted soldiers.

139 : 17. Sang-froid. A French expression meaning
coolness of demeanor — ''sang'' = blood, "froid" = cold.

140 : 5. Quanto sans insensibili questi Inglesi. What
lack of sensibility these English have !

141 : 30. Testily. In a fretful or irritated way. The
characterization of "The Englishman" is one of the finest
things in The Tales. Notice here how his irritation at
having made (5ne mistake is leading him toward another.
He will take no notice of the disappearance of the other
carriage.

142 : 2. On. The use of prepositions has changed some-
what. We would say "at a foot-pace," though we use the
idiom "on the run."

142:11. Desperadoes. Ruffians — wild, furious men.

142 : 28. Scampa via. Hurry away !

143 : 19. Gulley. Now spelled "gully," a deep, narrow
passage which has been made by water.

NOTES 253

145 : 2. Phlegm. Indifference, coldness of manner. We
have in this sentence the climax in the description of the
Englishman's character, just as the rescue of the lady is
the climax of his action.

THE MONEY-DIGGERS

149 : Title. The Money-Diggers. These stories, like the
History of New York, show Irving's appreciation of the
humorous side of early New York history. His genius seized
upon the material and immortalized it. They are presented
as the writings of Diedrich Knickerbocker, an old Dutch
schoolmaster, who disappeared from his lodgings and left
only debts and some manuscript. Three or four notices of
his disappearance and of his landlord's determination to
publish the manuscript in order to reimburse himself, ap-
peared at intervals of about two .weeks before the History
of New York was published. This fiction was kept up in
connection with most of the tales of New York life. Tales
of the burial of treasure by pirates and smugglers, especially
by Captain Kidd, led many inhabitants of New York and
its vicinity to dig for the hidden money.

149 : 2. Manhattoes. Inhabitants of Manhattan, origi-
nally the Indians of the island.

149 : 6. Perplexed. Used here in the primitive sense of
confused, or made intricate; a little farther on we have
perplexity, meaning confusion of thought.

150 : 9. Oloffe the Dreamer. A character in Irving's
History of New York.

150 : 17. St. Nicholas. Besides being the original " Santa
Glaus," he was the patron of sea-faring men, and has been
called the patron saint of New York.

254 NOTES

150 : 23. Dutch urchins. One must remember that this
tale was supposed to have been found amongst the papers
of Diedrich Knickerbocker.

150 : 27. Scylla and Charybdis. Scylla, a dangerous rock,
and Charybdis, a whirlpool, whose relative position on op-
posite sides of the Strait of Messina made navigation very
difficult there.

151 : 14. Melancholy carcass. A very clear image.
Notice how its character is emphasized by the ghostly
tales connected with it.

151 : 19. Pelorus. An old name for Sicily, or, strictly
speaking, the northeast promontory, near Scylla, where the
passage was most difficult.

152 : 5. Contemporary historian. Notice how inimitably
Irving keeps up the fiction of Knickerbocker's author-
ship.

152 : 15. Frogsneck. A place on the Sound near West-
chester village. It is a curious example of the way names
are changed, since it was once " Throggmorton's Neck.''
Abbreviation made it Throgg's Neck, and then Frogsneck.
It is now Throgg's Neck.

152 : 16. Purblind. Near-sighted or dim-sighted.

152 : 23. Authenticity. Why does Irving differentiate
this from the other tales of pirates, etc., and speak of it as
authentic ?

KIDD THE PIRATE

153 : Title. Kidd. The famous sea-captain of the seven-
teenth century, who, after assisting the government a little,
as he agreed to do, in suppressing pirates, turned pirate
himself. His bravery, his romantic career, and especially

NOTES 256

his fabulous treasure, have made him the centre of much
interest to lovers of adventure.

153 : 8. Law and Gospel. An old expression for all the
controlling principles of man and God.

153 : 11. Privateers. Why are they called ''schools of
piracy '' ? Note what follows.

153 : 18. Buccaneers. A word of American origin, and
first used as a name for the French settlers in Hayti, etc.,
whose main business was to hunt and smoke meat, etc.,
from the French word "boucan,'^ to smoke or dry meat.
It is most generally known, however, as the name of adven-
turers who robbed the Spaniards in America in the seven-
teenth and eighteenth centuries.

153 : 25. Concert. To plan together, to arrange.

154 : 4. Free-booters. Synonymous with buccaneer —
as are also "picaroon,'' from the Spanish " picaro,'' a rogue
and pirate.

154 : 30. Mother Gary's chicken. Several species of sm.all
sea-birds, such as the stormy petrel, are called by this
name.

155 : 10. Madeiras. Islands in the Atlantic Ocean be-
longing to Portugal, near the northwestern coast of
Africa. Bonavista. One of the Cape Verde Islands
west of Africa. Madagascar. The large island east of
Africa. The names of these places emphasize the wide
range of Captain Kidd's adventures.

155 : 12. Quedah. A region on the southwestern coast
of the Malay Peninsula.

155 : 30. Gut-purse. One who steals purses or their
contents; the 'term originated when men wore their
purses tied to their girdles.

156 : 8. Screen. To separate- or cut off from danger.

157 : 29. Truth. Notice the touch of humor.

266 NOTES

159 : 5. Adrian Block. A sea-captain of Holland, who
obtained from the States General or legislature of that
country a grant of the New Netherlands in 1614.

159 : 11. Dons. A Spanish title formerly given to noble-
men and gentlemen only.

159 : 15. Whaler. One who sails on a vessel which goes
out in search of w^hales. Notice the brief character sketch
and the contrast with the alderman.

159 : 20. Bible. Notice in this burial of the Bible, the
connection with the devil which marked so many of the
Captain Kidd stories.

159:25. Odsfish. "Ods'^ is a corruption lof "God's"
and was formerly used as an oath with many other words.
In this case the word was suggested by their occupation.

WOLFERT WEBBER

160 : 9. Van Kortlandt. See Oloffe the Dreamer, p. 150,
a character in The History of New York.

160 : 15. Family genius. The gentle, humorous fillip
with which the placid Dutch family is characterized here
introduces an essential feature of the story in Irving's in-
imitable manner. Yet he nowhere says they were "cabbage-
heads !''

160 : 20. Dynasty. Irving's humorous effects are often
secured by using a word commonly associated with things
of great importance or value in connection with something
rather insignificant; the exaggeration seems comical.

161 : 3. Seat of Government. What feature of Irving's
style does this illustrate?

161 : 8. Martins. Notice Irving's mention of birds and
flowers.

NOTES 257

161 : 28. The empire. An apt comparison with the at-
titude of some German princes when the German Empire
was formed in 1871.

161 : 29. Patriarchal bench. A good instance of figura-
tive suggestion combined with characteristic detail.

162 : 1. A Helpmate. Compare this sketch of a Dutch
woman with others, Dame Van Winkle, and Mynheer Van
TassePs wise wife, who said that ^^ girls could take care of
themselves, but ducks and geese were foolish things and must
be looked after. ^'

162 : 15. A sampler. A piece of needlework originally
done to preserve patterns. The custom of having children
make samplers as exhibitions of their skill was very general
in well-ordered families of the olden times.

162 : 31. Noble subjects. What are they?

163:8. Annoint. Now spelled '^ anoint.^' How can
you account for the use of this word, which means to pour
oil upon or to consecrate by the use of oil?

163 : 12. Chief cause of anxiety. Notice Irving's usual
skill in preparing for a coming climax, while he suggests
the contrary. Wolfert's mind can only act in the lines in
which his ancestors have thought; hence no thought but
the growing of cabbages has suggested itself.

163 : 24. To pinch up, etc. One of the unique features
of Irving's manner is this curiously subtle association of
animate and inanimate things.

164 : 2, Dutch beauty. Does Irving do what he says
he has not talent for ?

165 : 16. Low Dutch. Piatt Deutsch, a name given to
the people of the ^'low'^ countries about the North Sea —
especially Holland and adjacent regions.

165 : 26. Grimalkin. A gray cat, especially an old cat
which might have been bewitched.

268 NOTES

167 :21. Shuffle-board. Also "shovel-board/' A game
in which the players drive, by blows of the hand, pieces of
money or counters toward certain lines or compartments.
Vhe game was held in high repute in early times, perhaps
the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries. Later it was only
played by the common people or in remote regions.

168 : 3. Walloons. A people found chiefly in southern
Belgium and some adjacent places, who are descended from
the ancient Belgce. The Walloons of Colonial New York
were Huguenot settlers from Artois in France.

168 : 19. Ramm. A very entertaining characterization.
Compare with Nicholas Vedder in Rip Van Winkle.

169 : 3. Peter Stuyvesant. The last of the Dutch gov-
ernors. After surrendering to the English, in 1664, he went
back to the Netherlands; but later returned and lived on
his farm, the Bouwerie, or Bowery, of New York.

169 : 6. Bottom of brandy. That which was at the bot-
tom of the glass.

169 : 12. Walks. The technical expression for the wan-
derings of a ghost.

169 : 14. Fudge. Nonsense or rubbish.

170 : 20. Mount ^tna. Also spelled ^' Etna," is an active
volcano in Sicily.

170 : 22. Very rich man. Irving centres his characteriza-
tion very cleverly around the riches of Ramm, and his repe-
tition is brought in most skilfully, so as to emphasize the
idea and make it ludicrous.

170 : 25. Van Hook. The old Dutch names are worth
attention. Besides their appropriateness in obvious ways,
there seems to be a subtle suggestion of the individual
characteristics. It is often worth while to connect the
sound of the name with such phrases in the text as '^ incon-
tinence of words'^ and ^'prosing, narrative old men.''

NOTES 269

170 : 31. Digged. One of the old forms in good use in
Irving's day, but not now. Notice others in the Tales.

171:7. Kidd. Wilham Kidd, born in Grenock/ Scotland,
hanged as a pirate in 1701. The gold he buried off Long
Island was recovered, but his other hidden treasures have
never been found.

171 : 14. Morgan. A Welshman of the seventeenth cen-
tury who ran away to sea, became a leader of the bucca-
neers, ravaged and pillaged Cuba and other Spanish re-
gions, and finally organized a large force and took Panama.
He was knighted by Charles II and put in command of
Jamaica.

171 : 18. Gunpowder tales. Irving is a master in the use
of words whose crowd of associations carry his meaning
without effort to the reader.

171 : 26. Pensively. Thoughtfully.

172 : 7. Doubloon. A golden coin of Spain and the Span-
ish-American states, originally of double the value of the
pistole ; that is, about eight dollars in the eighteenth cen-
tury.

172 : 19. Pieces-of -eight. Spanish dollars.

172 : 20. Moidores. Gold coins formerly current in Por-
tugal, equivalent in value to about six dollars and fifty cents.
Ducats. A gold coin of varying form and value, formerly
in use in several European countries. Pistareens. The name
given to a Spanish coin used in the West Indies. The
"peseta'' is a silver coin of modern Spain worth about
twenty cents.

173 : 11. Good luck. The old signs of good or ill luck,
the meaning of dreams, etc., find in Irving's delineations the
place demanded by their importance in the lives of his
people. The unusual thing always suggests to the uncul-
tured mind something of good or evil to himself; though

260 NOTES

sometimes these signs are based on vital instincts and
intuitions which are apprehended but not understood.

174 : 7. Of another guess sort. Colloquial and rather
awkward expression of his belief that she would have an-
other sort of gold — a sort which she might guess.

175 : 19. Stiver. A small coin formerly current in Hol-
land and in the Dutch colonies.

177 : 8. Abundant sympathy. We have here a fine in-
stance of the kindly satire vv^ith which Irving shows up
a social defect in the strong light of genuine sympathetic
humanity.

178 : 10. Amphibious. What does the figurative use of
this word suggest ?

180 : 33. Spanish Don. One of the nobility of Spain,
a great lord.

181 : 4. Leviathan. Any monstrous sea animal. Note
how these comparisons characterize "the stranger.''

182 : 19. Tarpauling. Another spelling of ''tarpaulin/'
which was occasionally used for sailor because of the tar-
paulin hats which sailors wear. The word is interesting
because it was first a compound of tar and ''pauling,"
which meant covering. Canvas covered with tar to make
it waterproof, and later, any waterproof cloth was so called.

183 : 6. Hand-grenades. An iron shell, usually spherical,
which is filled with powder, lighted by means of a fuse, and
thrown by hand at an enemy.

184 : 20. Basilisk. The fabled animal of this name had
a penetrating, malignant eye; and, according to some of
the tales, had the power to charm, or make rigid, whatever
it looked upon.

186 : 12. The Spanish Main. A rather indefinite name
for the ocean bordering on the northern shore of South
America, and about which the Spanish territory lay.

NOTES 261

186 : 15. Crucifixes. The buccaneers often robbed the
churches of towns which they pillaged of all valuables.

Irving makes one see how entirely the thought of what
chalices and crucifixes symbolize is lost sight of by one who
thinks only of money or gold.

187 : 24. Frying-Pan. This and the preceding are the
names of various little islands in Hell Gate.

187 : 29. Blackweirs Island. It is interesting to contrast
Irving's account of this region with its condition to-day,
when most of the rocks which beset the channel have been
blasted away, and the islands are the sites of great city
institutions, the jail on Blackwell's, etc.

188 : 7. Snag nook. A sheltered place made by the
lodgment of a snag against the shore.

192 : 14. Gossip tankard. Gossip is a curious word of
many meanings. Here it is used adjectively to describe
the cup, or tankard, of drink which was at each man's side
as the familiar friends sat and talked, or gossipped, together.

193 : 30. Muzzy. Dazed, stupid.

193 : 33. Rushlight. A light made by stripping a rush,
or reed, of all its fibre except a little to hold the pith, and
then dipping it repeatedly in tallow. When the tallow was
burned away, the rush flared up before it went out.

195:31. Dowse. Also spelled ''douse.'' It means to
plunge into a fluid or to pour a fluid over something, also to
strike. Can you see how the meaning here of putting out
a light might be derived from either of these ?

197 : 8. Valuable philosophy. A good instance of one
characteristic form of Irving's humor. Why is it funny?

197 : 20. Davy Jones' locker. Davy Jones's locker is the
ocean, especially when it is considered as the grave of those
who perish at sea. Jones is possibly a corruption of Jonah,
the prophet who was thrown into the sea.

262 NOTES

198 : 9. Dead-lights. Strong shutters fastened over cabin
windows or portholes to keep out the water in rough weather.

200 : 20. Almshouse. Appreciation of Irving depends
upon sympathy with such light, humorous suggestions as
that which is implied here. The apparent agreement with
an absurd philosophy of life marks its ludicrous features.

201 : 12. Wallabout. A bay of the East River at Brook-
lyn, where the United States now has a navy-yard. The
British prison ships were moored there in the Revolutionary
War.

202 : 16. Bloomen-dael. This was so named from the
nurseries which were there in early times; now called Bloom-
ingdale.

203 : 18. Fire-bird. Irving, in a note, calls this the or-
chard oriole. To-day the name fire-bird is given to the
scarlet tanager, which has deep-red plumage with black
wings, while the feathers of the orchard oriole are a dull
orange — not at all brilliant in color, like the Baltimore
oriole. Irving's usual accuracy about natural things makes
one wonder if the name has changed.

207 : 17. Dominie. From the Latin '^dominus,'^ lord.
The dominie was the minister, who was usually the school-
master as well. To-day one hears the minister called
dominie in the villages of the Catskill Mountains.

207 : 24. High-German. The way in which the higher,
inland regions of Germany are distinguished from the lower
ones about the North Sea.

207 : 28. Robe of knowledge. The old magicians are always
presented to our imaginations in an ample robe, whose
folds aided in imparting magic powers; here the "camlet.^'

207 : 29. Boorhaave. A famous physician. Van Hel-
mont. A famous Flemish physician of the early seventeenth
century, who did valuable work, especially in chemistry.

NOTES 263

Irving^s association of the ^'High German Doctor '^ with
these world-famous men is a part of his humorous satire.
208 : 2. Physiognomy. Note the humorous satire.

208 : 17. Astrology. Note carefully the nature of the
doctor's learning as indicated in this, and in the words
alchemy, divination, mystic lore, necromancer, and so forth.

209 : 16. Mr. Knickerbocker. The reader must keep in
mind Irving's literary device of presenting these Dutch
stories as having been found among the papers of Diedrich
Knickerbocker, an old schoolmaster. This gives him oppor-
tunity for humorous satire on the superstitions of the time
and people of whom he writes.

211 : 1. Portal. What is the humorous comparison sug-
gested here ?

212 : 4. Gotham.

"Three wise men of Gotham
Went to sea in a bowl.
If the bowl had been stronger,
My story 'd been longer. '^

— Nursery rhyme.

213 : 17. Divining rod. We have described here the con-
fident exercise of a superstition which was widely spread and
in which many people have had firm faith.

214 : 2. Pots tausendl A common German exclamation
of irritation.

214 : 11. Potent odor. Why does Irving call the odor
potent? Notice the resemblance to the smell of brimstone
and assafoetida.

214 : 20. Conjuration. The act of calling spirits to appear
before mortals.

219 : 5. Picaroon. The shallop, or little boat, looked as
if it might be that of a pirate or buccaneer.

219 : 30. Pipkin. A small utensil.

264 NOTES

220 : 15. Cabbage-garden. Notice how the original idea
appears as the tale draws near its climax, and the skill with
which Irving draws the humorous picture of a man dying
because he cannot find reputed hidden treasures, while a
fortune lies before him in the thing he dreads most.

221 : 9. Peaked nose. Notice how the alliteration with
"pellucid'' helps to emphasize the humor of the image.

221 : 17. Nibbed. Mended the "nib'' or point of his
quill pen.

223 : 2. Rich men. His ability to see the humorous
side of such characteristic facts of New York life as this was
a large factor in making Irving's works popular.

224 : 2. Arm-chair. It is a skilful touch of story-telling
which makes Wolfert Webber find his crowning glory in
this sort of established preeminence, even more than in the
house and gingerbread-colored coach.

INDEX TO NOTES

Abednego, 237.
Abmzzi, 248.
Abundant sympathy, 260.
Accidence, 227.
Acquiescent, 234.
Acropolis, 248.
Adrian Block, 255.
Adventure, 252.
Ailes de pigeon, 231.
All was in vain, 234.
Almshouse, 262.
Alteratives, 226.
Amazon, 239.
Amen Corner, 240.
Amphibious, 260.
Ancien regime, 232.
Ancient antlers, 227.
Anoint, 257.

Antiquarian treatise, 249.
Antiquary, 247.
Apollo, 241.
Apologue, 226.
Aquiline, 247.
Arcadian, 241.
Archipelago, 242.
Aricia, 248.
Arm-chair, 264.
As, 247.
Astrology, 263.
At present, 229.
At this moment, 232, 247.
Aurora, 245.
Authenticity, 254.

Bannockburn, 231.
Barricadoes, 233.

Basilisk, 260.
Beau Tibbs, 239.
Belle-esprit, 238.
Below the salt, 237.
Benshee, 228.
Bernard Lintot, 240.
Bible, 256.

Blackwell's Island, 261, -
Bloomen-dael, 262.
Blue sky, 245.
Blue-stocking parties, 226.
Blunderbuss, 234.
Bonavista, 255.
Bookseller, 236.
Boorhaave, 262.
Botany Bay, 235.
Bottom of brandy, 258.
Bow Street office, 244.
Brigands, 246.
Buccaneers, 255.
Buon giorno, 248.
Buono viaggio, 249.
Burgundy, 237.
Buzzed, 250.

Cabbage-garden, 264.
ga-9a! 231.
Campagna, 249.
Canaille, 234.
Carbine, 246.
Carbonari, 249.
Carbuncles, 230. .
Cedar-parlor, 228.
Charles the Second, 236.
Chasseur, 233.
Chateau, 229.
266

266

INDEX TO NOTES

Checked in full career, 247.

Chief cause of anxiety, 257.

Chingford Church, 243.

Chintz-room, 228.

Ci-devant, 226.

Cloth, 246.

Cockle-shells, 250.

Cockney pastorals, 242.

Coligni, 232.

Concert, 255.

Conde, 233.

Confitures, 250.

Conjuration, 263.

Contemporary historian, 254.

Conti, 233.

Conversaziones, 250.

Corpo di Bacco, 245.

Coterie, 236.

Court Calendar, 244.

Co vent Garden, 238.

Creaked out, 249.

Cricket, 241.

Cross-bow, 230.

Crucifixes, 261.

Cut and come again, 236.

Cut-purse, 255.

Davy Jones' locker, 261.
Dead-lights, 262.
Derbyshire, 234.
Descanted, 232.
Desperadoes, 252.
Dieppe, 233.
Digged, 259.

Digger of Greek roots, 240.
Divining rod, 263.
Domestic, 250.
Dominie, 262.
Donjon, 231.
Dons, 256.

Doubloon, 259.
Dowse, 261.
Dragoons, 252.
Ducats, 259.

Due de Longueville, 233.
Duke de Guise, 231.
Duodecimo men, 237.
Dutch beauty, 257.
Dutch urchins, 254.
Dynasty, 256.

Ear-locks, 230.
Eased of, 252.
Egad, 234.
Elizabeth, 236.
En croupe, 233.
Englishman, 246.
Epicure, 244.
Epping Forest, 243.
Esprit du corps, 243.
Estafelte, 245.
Exaggeration, 251.
Exaggerations, 252.
Excellenza, 246.
Excommunicated, 235.
Extricated, 250.

Factotum, 250.
Fagot, 232.
Family geniua, 256.
Family watch, 248.
Farrago, 232.
Felucca, 245.
Field-day, 237.
Fire-bird, 262.
Flambeaux, 233.
Fleet Market, 238.
Fondi, 245.
Fo raging-cap, 249.
Forte-piano, 237.

INDEX TO NOTES

267

Fosse, 233.
Fountains, 229.
Frascati, 249.
Free-booters, 255.
French Revolution, 229.
Friends, 235.
Frogsneck, 254.
Fronde, 232.
Frost-bitten, 244.
Frying-Pan, 261.
Fudge, 258.

Gala suit of faded brocade, 227.

Galleys, 249.

Garreteer, 237,

Generalship, 251.

Gens d'armes, 246.

Geoffrey Crayon, 226.

Giant, 230.

Goldy, 241.

Gonsalvi, 249.

Good, 234.

Good luck, 259.

Gossip tankard, 261.

Gotham, 263.

Gothic, 241.

Green-arbor Court, 238.

Gregarious, 236.

Grunalkin, 257.

Gulley, 252.

Gunpowder tales, 259.

Halo, 240.

Hand-grenades, 260.

Hannibal, 247.

Harrow, 242.

Healing in the creak of his shoes,

225.
Hectoring, 251.
Heels tripped up, 225.

Helpmate, 257.
Hemlock, 248.
Henry the Fourth, 230.
Herculean, 249.
Hereditary china, 227.
Highgate, 239.
High-German, 262.
Hippocrates, 226.
His opinion, 240.
Hogarth, 238.
Homilies, 245.
Hot-pressed, 237.
However, gentlemen, 230.
Human nature, 242.
Hybla, 239.

Improvisatore, 247.
In at the death, 227.
Innuendo, 246.
Intaglio, 248.
Interruption, 249.
Irruption, 231.

Jack Staw, 242.
John Baliol, 231.
Jump, 242.

Kidd, 254

Knickerbocker, 263.
Knight of the Post, 234.

Labyrinths, 244.

Landaulet, 246.

Law and Gospel, 255.

Leviathan, 260.

Like a lobster, 228.

Like the house of our host, 229.

Literary landmarks, 236.

Loretto, 250.

Low Dutch, 257.

268

INDEX TO NOTES

Lucubration, 225.
Luminaries, 235.

Madagascar, 255.
Madeiras, 255.
Manhattoes, 253.
Martins, 256.
Massacred, 250.
Mazarin, 232.
Melancholy carcass, 254.
Mentz, 225.
Meshech, 237.
Milesian, 228.
Minerva, 240.
Miniature, 234.
Moidores, 259.
Money-Diggers, 253.
Moore, 240.
Morgan, 259.

Mother Gary's chicken, 255.
Mother Red Cap, 241.
Mount iEtna, 258.
Muses, 238.
Muzzy, 261.
My crest fell, 240.

Naples, 245.
Newgate Calendar, 243.
Nibbed, 264.
Nimrod, 227.
Noble subjects, 257.
Noblesse, 229.
Notoriety, 244.

Oaken towel, 235.

Ode, 243.

Odsfish, 256.

Of another guess sort, 260.

Of his importance, 251.

Oloffe the Dreamer, 253.

On, 252.
Osteria, 248.
Out of time, 250.

Pad the hoof, 242.

Pardonnez-moi, 232.

Parnassus, 242.

Paternoster Row, 240.

Patriarchal bench, 257.

Pays de Caux, 229.

Peaked nose, 264.

Peccadilloes, 250.

Pegasus, 243.

Pelasgi, 248.

Peloponnesus, 248.

Pelorus, 254.

Pensively, 259.

Perdu, 241.

Per I'amor di Dio, 245.

Perplexed, 253.

Peter Stuyvesant, 258.

Philistls, 247.

Philos, 239.

Phlegm, 253.

Physiognomy, 263.

Picaroon, 263.

Pieces of eight, 259.

Pipkin, 263.

Pistareens, 259.

Poissarde, 231.

Polonaise, 250.

Pontine, 246.

Pop visit, 229.

Portal, 263.

Porte Cocheres; 233.

Portmanteau, 251.

Postern, 233.

Postilion, 229.

Potent enemy, the tea-kettle, 227.

Potent odor, 263,

INDEX TO NOTES

269

Pots tausend, 263.
Preux chevalier, 231.
Privateers, 255.
Procaccio, 247.
Proenes, 248.
Panics, 247.
Purblind, 254.

Put the housekeeper to her
trumps, 227.

Quanto sans insensibili questi

Inglesi, 252.
Quarto, 225.
Quedah, 255.
Queen Anne, 236.
Quid pro quo, 235.
Quip and a fillip, 238.
Quite picturesque, 252.

Raised his nightcap, 232.

Ramm, 258.

Read the riot act, 251.

Recollect an impromptu, 249.

Relay, 245.

Reputation, 244.

Rich men, 264.

Robe of knowledge, 262.

Robin Hood, 242.

Robustious, 227.

Roman Consulars, 247.

Rosolio, 245.

Rout, 244.

Rushlight. 261.

Sampler, 257.
St. Nicholas, 253.
Saint Paul's, 239.
Samnite, 247.
Sanctum sanctorum, 240.
San Gennaro, 246.

Sang-froid, 252.

Sans-culottes, 231.

Santa Casa, 251.

Scampa via, 252.

Scaramouch, 251.

Screen, 255.

Scylla and Charybdis, 254.

Seat of Government, 256.

Shadrach, 237.

Shuffie-board, 258.

Sicuro, 247.

Signora, 245.

Slattern, 250.

Smack, 229.

Snagnook, 261.

Snoring, 228.

Spanish Don, 260. •

Spanish galleon, 243.

Spanish Main, 260.

Spectator, 241.

Spit, 233.

Spoils of antiquity, 248.

Squalling, 251.

Steele, 241.

Stilettos, 246.

Stiver, 260.

Stratford-on-Avon, 239.

Taboo'd, 235.
Tankard, 238.
Tarpauling, 260.
Telegonus, 248.
Tenth of August, 231.
Termagant, 242.
Terracina, 245.
Testily, 252.
Tete-a-tete, 235.
That is all, 234.
The empire, 256.
The Great Unknown, 226.

270

INDEX TO NOTES

The haunted head, 228.

Their own chimneys, 241.

Theodoric, the Goth, 245.

Tibur, 248.

Tome, 248.

To pinch up, 257.

Trencher, 237.

Tricks, 243.

Troy, 248.

Truth, 255.

Tuileries, 230.

Turenne, 232.

Valuable philosophy, 261.
Van Helmont, 262.
Van Hook, 258.
Van Kortlandt, 256.
Varlet, 234.

Very rich man, 258.
Village literati, 239.
Vincennes, 233.
Viragoes, 239.
Votive, 251.

Wainscot, 250.
Walked away, 252.
Walks, 258.
Wallabout, 262.
Walloons, 258.
Wallowing, 252.
Waltham Abbey, 243.
Wars of the league, 229.
Weaver's beam, 230.
Well-stuffed, 251.
West End, 238.
Whaler, 256.

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